The Devil's Queen
by the crazy hobos of doom
Summary: She didn't mind dancing with the devil, as long as it suited her needs. Pre-RE5, Excella/Wesker
1. Chapter 1

EDITED 3/19/2012. Removed adverbs, cleaned up a lot of sentences. Tried my best to fix some P.O.V issues. Added a classy quote.

EDITING 7/11/2012 Minor changes, some additions to help fit in with future chapters.

* * *

**The Devil's Queen**

Chapter 1

"_The Devil pulls the strings which make us dance;  
We find delight in the most loathsome things;  
Some furtherance of Hell each new day brings,  
And yet we feel no horror in that rank advance."  
―Charles Baudelaire_

It was nearly impossible to miss her.

Standing on the mezzanine level of the ballroom with one delicate hand placed on the wooden railing, the other holding a champagne glass by the tips of her fingers, she had the looks that drew the eyes of everyone in the room. Her stance was purposeful: hips jutted out seductively to one side, head titled back to reveal the smooth curve of the neck. She was a diamond in a coal mine, and she was well aware of it.

Despite the fact that she was one of the few women attending the party, she was completely at ease in the company of the opposite sex. Men approached her like moths attracted to the light. They orbited around her, desperately struggling to catch her attention and spark a conversation.

She enjoyed their goggling stares. She loved watching them strut around pathetically like peacocks as they attempted to impress her with hints of power, money and wealth. It didn't matter that most were twice her age and probably had more mistresses than the fingers on her hand. She continued to bask in their compliments like a snake in the sun, laughing delicately at their bad jokes and smiling alluringly whenever the time was right. It was a like game to her, and even from fifty feet away, Albert Wesker knew that she was enjoying it.

Reclining in one of the numerous, leather lounge chairs on the ground floor, he smiled to himself as he watched the female through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses. It was obvious to him that she saw her copious admirers as mere stepping stones, whose power and influence were the only things she sought. It was a line of thought he was intimately familiar with.

"Taken a fancy to Miss Gionne, hm?"

Like many of the other party guests, the man who had spoken was wearing a priceless suit, complete with a solid gold chain tucked in the front pocket. Against the extravagant attire, his wrinkled, lopsided face stuck out like a dented fender on a luxury sports car. A bodyguard loomed threateningly next to the man's elbow.

"Take my advice and forget about her. She may be a Venus on the outside, but she's one nasty bitch inside," the stranger said. He took a sip from his cocktail glass before continuing. "That's the problem with girls nowadays. They think they're so smart. Think they've got the brains to compete in a man's business. Excella's the worst of them all. She's _sly_. She'll do anything to get what she wants."

"Personal experience?" Wesker asked. He didn't bother to face the newcomer, and kept his eyes on to the woman in the distance. She was now chatting with a new set of young admirers who seemed dazed by her radiance. Every now and then, she would flick her wrist gracefully while she talked, causing the golden bracelets on her arms to jangle entrancingly in front of their eyes.

"It was a few months back. Bitch took a chunk of my money when she was finished." The man took another gulp of his drink. "In fact, I'll let you in on a little secret. The whore's in for a surprise tonight, after the party…a little something I've got planned for her. I don't want her to think that she can get away without any consequences. We can't let the womenfolk get too cocky, you know, gotta let them know who's in charge. You seem like an interesting guy. Care to join?"

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? I could let you have a go at her, if you know what I mean."

Wesker remained silent.

"Well, suit yourself," the stranger said with a shrug.

He downed the rest of his glass before carelessly tossing it to a passing attendant. Turning back towards Wesker, he smacked his lips a few times, revealing two rows of crooked, tobacco-stained teeth.

"Is this your first time at a Tricell fundraiser? I haven't seen your face around here before," the man asked.

"It is."

"Are you here for anything in particular?" Wesker could feel the strangers' eyes roaming across his jet black suit, sizing up his attire.

"Just getting to know Tricell a little better," the blond man answered, still gazing up at the staircase. The woman, Excella, had shed the young suitors and was now speaking to an older man in a lavish, silk tuxedo. She was obviously irritated with his presence. Wesker could recognize the forced, dry smile plastered on her face even from fifty feet away.

"So you plan on doing some business with us, hm? Well, if you want, I have some contacts that you might find useful."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Wesker replied._ In fact, I think I've already found one_, he thought to himself with a smile, as he watched Excella Gionne leaning elegantly on the wooden railing. She said something to the man in the silk suit, causing him to go red in the face and growl something in reply. But the only reaction he got was a haughty laugh. The man, infuriated, turned heel and stormed away.

"Fine by me." The stranger's voice was clipped, no doubt annoyed that the mysterious man in shades had not appreciated his offer nor introduced himself properly. Standing up, he drifted away to the refreshments table for another drink, followed dutifully by his bodyguard.

* * *

On the higher level, Excella had turned around to briefly scan the room for any other associates to mingle with. There was a blond man in dark shades lounging casually on one of the chairs near the center of the room. She could feel his gaze, even under his sunglasses, and she paused to flash a provocative smile. When the blond man did not return it, she scoffed and drifted away, the movement causing the fabric of her dress to stretch alluringly over her thighs. She didn't have to look to know that the men nearby were shooting covert glances at her retreating figure, their eyes devouring the way the silk slid over her curves. The countless hours she'd spent selecting and tailoring her wardrobe were paying off. Smiling, she exited the room through a curtained entryway that led out to the balcony.

The thin fabric of the dress did little to fight to cold, but at least out here, she wouldn't have to put up with any more of that inane chatter. The young ones she didn't mind as much, but those white haired perverts were so unbearably boring. _It's a shame that they're the ones with all the money_, she thought to herself, leaning against the stone railing to stare out at the city below.

Sounds from the fundraiser drifted lazily in from the doorway behind her. It reminded her of her earlier conversation with the man in the silk suit and she clenched her teeth. The impurity of the Gionne family? How dare he. She had barely restrained herself from slapping him across the face.

"I'll show _him_ who's impure…," she muttered to herself.

"Show who?"

Excella jumped in surprise, one hand shooting instinctively down into her purse to grab hold of the compact revolver. Where had he come from? She hadn't heard any footsteps. Cautiously, she stepped back to face the newcomer besides her, all the while maintaining a grip on the weapon in her purse.

"Did I frighten you?" he said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

She recognized him. It was the man from earlier, the one in the shades that had been staring at her in the lobby. Inwardly, Excella breathed a sigh of relief and loosened her grip on the firearm. As long as it was someone from the fundraiser—specifically, someone she hadn't double crossed before— she would be safe.

She shifted her body to a more enticing position, allowing her curves to show more clearly through the fabric of her dress. They were practiced motions, perfected by hours in front of a mirror.

"Only a little bit," she drawled, her accent thickening the words. She smiled up at the stranger, hoping she'd come off as bold and fearless.

Now that she could see him up close, Excella realized that the situation was far more intimidating than she'd originally thought. His shades hid any hint of an expression and his mocking smile seemed almost predatory, white teeth baring out from beneath the lips. There was something about the way he carried himself that emitted power and confidence, so different than the other men back at the fundraiser with their custom fitted tuxedos and Rolex watches. It felt primal and ancient, like a tiger in the jungle. A magnificent creature, yet deadly to any who dared approach.

* * *

Wesker could smell the fear drifting off the woman despite her cool exterior. It was a familiar scent, one that never failed to stir up a pristine, fearsome excitement deep inside of him. He had the sudden compulsion to tear her apart with his bare hands, to feel the blood dripping between his fingers as he crushed her fragile life to pieces. But that was the virus talking, whispering to him like a hundred tiny voices promising death and destruction.

He ignored them and focused instead on Excella's beating heart. He could hear it pounding a steady rhythm, and he smiled inwardly. So, she could maintain her composure in the face of adversity. He'd made a good choice.

"Shouldn't you be introducing yourself?" Excella asked, raising one delicately plucked eyebrow. "You aren't going to have much of chance with me if you don't even bother to say hello."

"You think I'm interested in you?"

"Men usually are." She leaned one elbow gracefully on the stone railing. "I suppose I misjudged you then."

Wesker remained silent. It made the woman uncomfortable, and she fidgeted a bit, as if unsure of whether to continue speaking.

"Don't waste my time," she said finally. "What do you want?"

"A partnership."

Excella gave a short bark of laughter, throwing her head back in the process. The smooth skin on her throat shone in the moonlight, and Wesker felt his fingers twitch. He could have snapped it so easily. Only a moment of pressure and she would have died at the spot.

_In time_, he told the hungry voices inside of him, even as they twisted and churned in frustration. He needed her now. Perhaps the female would provide him with some entertainment in the meantime.

* * *

Excella sobered up when she saw the man's smirk. His behavior was so unusual and unlike the phony, polite banter she was accustomed to. It made her nervous, not knowing what was going on behind those impenetrable sunglasses.

"You're joking, right?" she said, dismissing him with a casual wave of a pale hand. "I don't even know your name, and you're asking that we talk business? I deal with some of the powerful, influential people in the world, _every single day_. What makes you think you're so much more important than them?"

"I have something that you might want."

"Such as?"

"Information. Valuable data that Tricell will never allow you to lay your eyes on, no matter how capable you prove yourself to be," he said softly. He leaned in closer, so that he was almost whispering in her ear. "You know that you can't get any higher the way you are now. Work with me, and I'll fix that faster than the blink of an eye."

She took a step back and tried her best to look indifferent. It was ridiculous, alright, but she couldn't help but indulge in the fantasy for just a moment. A secret informant, with everything she needed to impress even the highest in Tricell? If what he said was true, it would be a dream come true, a way to melt away the frustration that had been building up for years in her heart. Those chauvinist bastards that had sent her letter after letter of craftily disguised insults and threats would get what they deserved when they saw her on the top. She could already taste the bittersweet revenge.

But that was the problem. It was _too_ perfect, and it made her wary. This stranger was offering her something that she had worked her entire life to achieve. There was no way it could be true; it had to be some type of clever scam.

"And how do I know that you really have this information?"

"I used to work for Umbrella," he said, as if the company's name would explain away everything. Excella wasn't convinced.

"Umbrella? I thought they killed off all their researchers after the bankruptcy."

"They did."

Excella waited for him to continue, but the stranger remained silent.

"I need proof," she said finally. "I want to see the hard evidence before I make any decisions. And that means that before we talk business, I need to know how came about obtaining this data, what it contains…"

She stopped abruptly when she realized that the man wasn't listening to her anymore. He had tilted his head slightly to one side, as if concentrating on something far away. Although Excella couldn't see his eyes beneath the sunglasses, she could imagine that they were closed.

"Excuse me?" she said.

The stranger held up his hand, an obvious gesture of silence. Excella let out a breath of impatience and threw her arms in the air. Who _was_ this imbecile? Did he really think he could go around ignoring her—

"You should get a new one," the blond man said.

"What?"

"You should get a new driver. This one isn't trustworthy."

"What the hell are you—"

"Your chauffeur has just accepted a great deal of cash in order to be purposefully late. There's a man, back inside," he nodded toward the doorway. "who wants to kidnap you tonight. He plans on striking after the party, while you stand outside in the street, waiting for your limousine to come."

Excella stared at him for a second, before a look of annoyance and skepticism flooded her features.

"Oh really?" she asked. "And how, exactly, did you know that? Did a little voice in your head tell you that?"

"They're discussing it right below us." The man waved vaguely at two figures in the street underneath the balcony. Excella took a glance out of curiosity, but the ballroom was almost five stories up, making it impossible to recognize the shadows, much less hear their conversation amid the chatter of the party behind them.

"You're crazy," she said flatly. "You're crazy, _and_ you're wasting my time." She turned away from the view and faced the stranger once more. In the glow of the outdoor lamps, she could see that he was smirking again.

"What? Do you think this is funny?" she snarled back. "What is this? Some kind of stupid joke?"

"You don't believe me?" he said, smile widening. So, he was toying with her. Clearly he was enjoying it too. Excella gave him her most vile scowl, before turning away and storming out the door. An attendant heading outside with a plate of drinks was rudely shoved aside as the woman marched back into the ballroom.

"_Bastardo_," she muttered to herself as she walked downstairs and into the lobby. The party was already thinning out as midnight drew nearer, leaving only the more inebriated guests chattering in the corners. The few sober ones were shaking hands with one another and exchanging polite farewells.

As she picked her way past a couple of food-ridden tables, she discovered that her anger was starting to evaporate. After all, she was no stranger to insults and jokes; working at Tricell had made sure of that. Excella sighed, and grabbed a leftover cocktail drink at the refreshments table. Sipping it, she turned back towards the balcony doorway to see if the blond stranger had followed her out. He hadn't.

_It's a bit of shame_, she thought to herself as she recalled the man's angular face and chiseled features. _He was quite handsome…and i__t has been a while since I'd slept with someone who was worth looking at. _She felt her heart flutter a bit at this thought. Annoyed at herself, Excella downed the rest of her drink and slammed the glass back on the table with such force that the waiter standing nearby backed away prudently. _Don't be stupid, Excella. __You could tell he was dangerous. Get involved with those types of men and you'll wind up dead for sure._

"Excuse me, miss?" said one of the attendants who had sidled up to her while she had been thinking. The vested man twisted his hands nervously. "The chauffeur outside…he told me to tell you that your limousine has arrived."

Excella didn't bother to answer. Instead, she shoved the attendant aside and headed out toward the elevators in the back of the ballroom. As she neared the entrance of the facility, her steps slowed. Hadn't the stranger said that there were men planning to kidnap her? One side of her wanted to slam the double doors open and walk showily out into the street, just to prove that he had been wrong. The other half warned not to let her emotions get the better of reason, and that caution would be the best way to proceed. Although she was fairly certain that the stranger had only been scaring her, she _did _know several men who wouldn't mind seeing her dead.

In the end, she decided hold her compact revolver discreetly in the palm of her hand before exiting the building.

The street was completely deserted. Which was odd of course. Hadn't the party just ended? She would have expected the usual flurry of half-drunk men in tuxedoes worth enough to feed an African village, stumbling into their priceless cars as they headed home for the evening. This time, however, there wasn't a person in sight.

Excella warily approached the curb, unsure of whether she should retreat back into the building. She took a glance upwards to see if the stranger was still on the balcony. He wasn't. In fact, there was no one on any of the balconies above her.

The sound of an engine approaching startled her for a moment, but when she realized that the approaching headlights were that of her own limousine, she gave a sigh of relief. So she had been right after all. The stranger had just been some idiot attempting to play some distasteful practical joke. She waved loftily at the vehicle, and watched as it screeched to a stop in front of her.

"You're late—"

The passenger door opened and a man stepped out of the car. The golden chain folded in his pocket glinted under the streetlight as he strolled out onto the sidewalk.

"I suppose I am," the man said with a shrug, smiling at Excella. The other doors opened simultaneously and three other men stepped out, each one built like a slab of rock, their suits tight against iron hard muscles.

"So if it isn't my dear Stanton," Excella replied, returning the newcomer's smile with an even sweeter one. "Words cannot describe how _glad_ I am to see you."

"Don't play around, Excella. Get in the car."

"What? No time for pleasantries?"

"I won't repeat myself again. Get in the car." At Stanton's signal, the body guard nearest to the female took a threatening step forward.

"Oh, my apologies. I totally forgot," Excella said with a jeering grin. She turned to the nearest guard. "Poor Stanton here is still a bit depressed over the little 'mix-up' we had last time. You _must_ excuse his rudeness."

"Don't you dare…," Stanton fumed, his face darkening.

He took a step forward and Excella half expected him to hit her across the face. If he'd have done that, she'd have been ready with her revolver. However, the old man stopped mid-step, his eyes focused over her shoulder. A look of confusion flashed briefly over his twisted features, before morphing into a knowing smile.

"Changed your mind, have you?" Stanton asked.

Curiosity got the better of her, and Excella turned to see who had arrived. At first it was hard to recognize the individual, whose black suit blended well with the night shadows. But as he sauntered under the street light, she could easily pick out the square jaw-line, the glossy, golden hair, and the odd shades.

* * *

Wesker smiled to himself when he saw Excella gape at him. He had to give credit to the woman for being so strong-minded in a situation like this. Of course, he wouldn't have chosen her if she didn't already have the qualities he was looking for. Now, all that was left was to persuade the women to join him in his cause.

"I knew you'd change your mind," Stanton said. "You won't regret coming, that's for sure."

"Oh, I _definitely _won't regret it," Wesker said, as he approached the nearest guard. With one smooth movement he plunged his gloved hand into the man's chest, hearing the satisfying crack of ribs followed by a familiar squelch as his fingers pierced through the man's heart.

The body guard gurgled for a second, eyes wide in horror, before he sagged downwards as Wesker ripped his hand away. Excella gave a little gasp of alarm from besides the car. He ignored her, and instead, held his forearm up into the light. A shiver of excitement ran through him as he watched the warm, red liquid drip down between his fingers and his virus seemed to curl inside of him in pleasure. Blood had stained his suit up to his elbow, but he didn't mind. He could always get a new one later.

Wesker spotted the glint of metal from the corner of his eye as the second guard reached into his jacket to pull out a Colt semi-automatic. These men were trained to be deadly, fast, and unbeatable. But a lifetime of muscle building and top notch practice was still nothing compared to the inhumane power coursing through his veins. The tip of the pistol had just brushed past the edge of the guard's shirt when a hand encircled his throat. With a deft twist, Wesker snapped the neck in two, the crack echoing down the empty road.

The last guard had been faster than his now dead companions. By this time, he had leveled his pistol and had it pointed at the blond man's head. It was a perfect shot. Had it connected, it would have drilled a hole right between the blond's eyes. By the time he pulled the trigger, however, his target had already disappeared. The guard was quick; seeing a blur of movement to his right, he threw a fast punch in that direction. Wesker grabbed the fist easily before it made contact and squeezed, hearing the bones pop and crack beneath his fingers. He yanked the entire arm downward, pulling it right out of the socket and threw the man bodily onto the ground, hard. The guard's head hit the curb with a wet snap and his neck flopped uselessly to one side.

He was straightening up when he heard a gunshot ring out from behind him. Wesker spun around much faster than he had meant to, the dead guard's pistol in one hand.

Excella had her compact revolver out, held near the side of her hip. In front of her, Stanton was staring, mouth open in shock, at his chest. A widening, crimson spot was smeared on his priceless suit, the liquid seeping through the fabric. He made a choked noise from the back of his throat, before stumbling to his knees and crumbling down onto the asphalt. Coolly, Excella placed her firearm back into her purse. She didn't seem troubled at all.

"I'm impressed," Wesker said. He walked up to the old man's body and nudged it over with his foot. Bending down, he pulled out Stanton's golden chain with his thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light.

"You didn't think I could handle this on my own?" she said. "I'm not some kind of 'damsel in distress,' you know."

Wesker pocketed the golden chain before effortlessly reaching down and lifting Stanton's body up with one hand. He dragged it methodically into the shadows of a nearby alley before returning for the other corpses. From the corner of his eye, he watched Excella standing on the sidewalk. She had her arms folded tightly over her chest and he could see goose bumps crawling over her exposed shoulders. At least she hadn't turned tail screaming like so many others before her. Most of them hadn't even finished their second torrent of shrieks before he had been forced to silence them.

Unlike Wesker's ill-fated victims, Excella was actually doing excellent job hiding her fears. To the ordinary pedestrian, she was as calm as one could be; she could have just finished painting her nails or enjoyed a morning latte. However, Wesker's inhuman ears could hear her heart pounding fast and irregularly against her ribcage.

He found himself wondering what it would feel like to crush that heart between his fingers. He ignored the thought, pushing it away to the back of his consciousness. He'd had years to become accustomed to the side effects of his power.

By the time he had finished lugging the final body into the hiding place; Excella had somehow procured a cigarette from her purse. She lit it unceremoniously and took a drag before turning to face Wesker.

"So what is it? T-veronica?" she said thoughtfully, more to herself than to him. "No…it can't be. There's no visible mutation, unless…" She eyed his sunglasses.

"You're a nosy one, aren't you?" Wesker said with a smile that would have made dogs howl and cats hiss. He casually shook out the sleeve of his right arm, splattering red liquid artistically over the concrete. It didn't' do much; his arm looked like he had dipped it into a bucket of dark crimson paint. He made quite a sight, standing there in his ink black suit, decorated with blood and specks of human tissue.

"It's the burden of having a scientific mind," Excella said, tapping the top of her head lightly with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes were glimmering with some type of emotion that he couldn't quite identify. Was it fear? Envy? Awe?

She suddenly took a step forward, in front of Wesker, and reached toward him with one delicate hand. It wavered there for a moment, uncertain, as she studied his face for any sign of dangerous objection. Seeing none, she carefully settled her hand onto the front of his chest. He could hear her heart pounding faster, no doubt surprised at the heat radiating fiercely through the fabric. His abnormally high body temperature was yet another unfortunate side effect of his mutation.

"It's magnificent," she whispered softly, staring at him with those glittering, brown eyes. "Such strength and speed and…_grace_, yet not a single sign of instability."

Wesker chuckled ominously at her statement before reaching up and gently removing her hand. She flinched slightly when he touched her and hastily pulled her hand out of his grip. So, she _was_ afraid. But who wouldn't be, after seeing what he had done?

"You've had plenty of time to think about our discussion earlier," he said. "Perhaps our little encounter here…" he gestured towards the alley where the bodies were hidden, "has changed your mind."

"The data that you have, is it really that valuable?"

"Absolutely. I assure you that with it, you'll be at the peak of Tricell's corporate ladder before the end of the year."

She gave him a disbelieving look, but it didn't really reach her eyes. They were shining once again, this time, with undeniable excitement.

"What's the catch? Say I agree. You give me the data, help control Tricell, and so on. But what do you want in return?"

Wesker smirked again and patted her shoulder in mocking sign of reassurance. He could see her nose wrinkle as the odor of blood seeped off his suit, but she didn't flinch this time.

"For now, all you need to do is listen to what I say. Everything else will come in due time."

"How vague."

"It's settled then," Wesker replied. He waved towards the limousine still parked on the curb, its doors swinging open in the night air. "I trust you can drive yourself home?"

"Of course," she said, starting towards the driver seat. She stopped before she went inside, one hand on the rear view mirror so that she could observe Wesker over the top of the car. "How should I contact you?"

"You'll hear from me." He stuck his hands casually in his pockets and started to saunter off in the opposite direction.

"Wait."

It was Wesker's turn to pause, turning his head back to regard the female. She seemed very regal, standing there with one hand on the vehicle, the evening wind fluttering the white dress against her body. Almost like a Greek statue, posed sensually in the middle of the blood-stained street.

"What should I call you?" she asked sweetly, tilting her head.

"Albert."

* * *

"No surname?" Excella started, but by the time the words left her mouth, the man had already melted away into the shadows.

"Albert." she repeated thoughtfully into the empty night. She smiled once to herself, recalling his graceful, yet deadly movements that had ended her abductors' lives. He could have been the devil himself, the way he killed those men without hesitation. But none of this mattered to Excella, after all, she didn't mind dancing with the devil as long as it suited her goals. But deep down inside, she had an inkling that there was much more to it than that. She slid into the leather seat of her limousine, started up the engine, and headed home.

* * *

Author's Note: Looking through the early storyboards for RE5, I noticed that the writers seemed to have a lot more planned for Excella/Wesker relationship. For one thing, there's a scene where they're cuddling on a couch. Which is especially cute. And Excella gets skewered by a Tyrant instead of getting betrayed by Wesker. Or maybe Wesker _did _betray her? We'll never know, since they eventually scrapped that whole idea.


	2. Chapter 2

EDITED: 3/19/2012 Cleaned stuff up, changed a rather large portion of the dialogue.

EDITED: 5/23/2012 Very minor stuff.

EDITED: 7/16/2012 More minor stuff.

* * *

**The Devil's Queen**

Chapter 2

Excella stared holes at the glossy screen of her computer, all the while resisting the urge to shove her fist through the monitor. She hated them. She hated those aristocratic bigots and their mocking words, their artificial politeness and their phony smiles. She hated them so _fucking _much it took all of her mental strength to abstain from bashing in their faces with a sledgehammer every single time they opened their repulsive mouths to ridicule her.

_She's just a Gionne_, they would say with a dismissive wave of a hand. _She'll never succeed_. Excella let out a frustrated hiss as the words echoed mockingly in her mind. In a fit of anger, she reached out and slammed the screen of her laptop down, shutting away the e-mail and all the maddening thoughts it had brought to the surface of her mind.

She leaned forward on her desk and rubbed her temple tiredly with one hand. It had been almost two weeks since Stanton had attempted to kidnap her, and two weeks since she'd met _him_. Excella hadn't heard a word from Albert, despite his promises, and she was beginning to believe that she'd been duped. Perhaps this whole fiasco was just another carefully crafted plot to ruin her career. After all, it had happened before. Several times.

Leaning back on her office chair, she stared dully down at the work space in front of her. Beyond the edge of her cluttered desk, she could see the researchers through the window, scurrying around like mice in the main laboratory below the office. There was a full length, glass pane on the wall there that overlooked the entire facility, installed so that she could spot the lazy employees who were wasting Tricell's research grants. Next to the window was a white door that led out to the hallway. It was closed shut at the moment, to keep out the noise of the bustling lab.

_I need a cigarette_, she thought to herself with a sigh. Excella reached down toward a drawer on the side of her desk, her bracelets piling down to her wrist with a familiar jangle. Unlocking the drawer, she roughly shoved aside folders and files to reveal a pack lying on the bottom of the container.

Her fingers had just barely brushed the cigarettes when she heard a voice in front of her.

"Bad day?"

Excella straightened up like a jack-in-the-box, the pack dropping carelessly to the carpeted floor beneath her. The man sat in the visitor chair directly across her desk, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and a smug smile planted on his lips. He was wearing a black duster that fell down to his ankles and his gloved hands were intertwined delicately below his chin. Behind him, Excella could see the door to her office swinging gently on its hinges.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she said. One of her hands was clasped nervously to her chest, where she could feel her heart rattling beneath her ribcage.

"Enjoying what?" he asked, two golden eyebrows arched innocently upwards.

"Sneaking up on people," Excella muttered. She bent over to grab the cigarettes off the floor, but her hands were shaking so much that she promptly dropped them again. She spat an impolite phrase before snatching up the elusive box in a clenched fist.

"You seem stressed."

Although the man's eyes were hidden by his ever present sunglasses, Excella could still feel them locked on to her, tracking her every move.

"That's an understatement," she hissed through gritted teeth. She sat up with the cigarettes in one hand and slammed them onto the table so hard that the paper box broke and several sticks shot out. "It's practically impossible to get any real research done when you have a bunch of bigots trying to revoke your animal testing license."

"Animal testing? I assume that includes human subjects?"

"In our line of work, when doesn't it?" Excella said with a wry smile. She absent mindedly picked out a cigarette on the desk and twirled it between her fingers. "There are a group of elitists in Tricell who would rather have a dog run a research facility than woman, especially one from the Gionne family. They're intent on getting me out of the game, but they're too cautious to have me killed. So they opt for dirty tactics, like sabotaging my research and bombarding me with legal documents." She spat out the last word forcefully.

"But you'll…'show them,' won't you?" he said, quoting her words from their last meeting.

"Even if I die trying."

"Then I suppose you'll find this very useful in your endeavors."

He pulled out a small, rectangular USB stick from his coat pocket and tossed it lightly over to Excella, who caught it smoothly with one pale hand. She shot him a questioning glance before looking down at the item in her palm.

"An Umbrella logo. How quaint." she said dryly as she held the drive between her index finger and thumb. "Did you steal this?"

"It was a company gift."

Excella raised a delicate eyebrow, but didn't question him. She inserted the USB into the side of her laptop and turned it back on. It hummed slowly to life, beeping as it started up.

"You're Albert…Wesker, correct?" she said cautiously, sneaking a glance at his face to see the man's reaction. He barely twitched.

"Impressive. You're well informed."

"Well, there aren't _too_ many ex-Umbrella employees walking around who're tall, blond, and named Albert. I did some digging in Tricell's database, came up with a few pictures of you from the nineties. The shades thing—" Excella waved her fingers in front of her eyes, "—was a dead giveaway. However, all the official documents state that you are deceased. 'Perished on July 24, 1998, in an experimental accident.'"

"I guess I missed the funeral." He flashed a cold smile as he stood up from his chair and walked over to the glass window on the wall, his back to her.

The computer was fully awake now. She opened the USB folder, and started to flick through the files on the drive. The first few were uninteresting: mundane research laboratory reports and the usual test result data. But it wasn't long before her eyes began to widen with amazement and she found herself leaning in toward the words on the screen, mouth agape.

"_Mio dio_. How did you get this information?"

Her initial shock was beginning to wane, however, and a slow, exhilarating feeling of triumph was beginning to take over as she began to process what exactly she had in her hands. There were files on every possible B.O.W. that Tricell had, and hundreds more on creatures she had never even heard of before. There were research logs of all Umbrella facilities, and detailed information on the viruses, their creation, their strengths, and their weaknesses. The T-Virus, the G-Virus, the T-Veronica, the Progenitor, Las Plagas…the list went on. Excella felt her head swirling under the mass of knowledge and it took all her mental determination to tear herself away from the screen and look up at Wesker, who hadn't budged from his spot.

"This is incredible," she said. "These viruses…do you..?"

"…have samples of them?" he finished, without bothering to turn around. "I do. I collected them myself."

"Incredible. And the other virus…the one inside of you?"

Wesker's head snapped around so quickly that Excella was sure he must have tapped into some of his inhuman speed. Even from beneath the sunglasses, she could feel his gaze drilling into her, so sharp that she immediately regretted opening her mouth. _Must be a sensitive topic_, she thought to herself.

"It's not important," she said as smoothly as possible, turning away and busying herself by reading the files on her screen. "This is more than an enough data. I doubt even the highest officials in Tricell have access to this information."

"I keep my promises. However, I'll need something in return."

Excella looked up cautiously from her lap top. Of course. There _was_ a catch. There was no way he'd give her so much without asking for some type of payment. _Perhaps it is my soul,_ she thought jokingly to herself. _Excella dear, have you followed in Faust's footsteps and sold yourself to the devil?_

"And that is?"

Wesker gestured toward the lab below the office. "Give me direct control of the research here. Don't worry," he added when he saw Excella furrow her thin eyebrows together. "It'll be _productive_ research. Something that you'll be able to use to get the attention of the Tricell leaders."

"If that's the case, do whatever pleases you."

She didn't mind handing over the research to someone else; after all, it wasn't like she would have any time to personally look over the facility. With the knowledge that she had just gained, she'd have her hands full just maneuvering through Tricell's corporate jungle and placing herself on the top.

"However, you won't be able to do much at the moment," she added. She stood up from her chair and strolled over next to the blond man, her stiletto heels punching holes into the old, crushed carpet beneath her feet. "Remember? The lab's animal testing license has been revoked. The whole place has been on a standby the past few weeks."

"Who's been revoking it?"

"Adrian Moretti. He's one of Tricell's top legal advisors. He's also a sexist bigot that hates my existence. Unfortunately, he's clever _and _has a lot of connections in the company. As much as I hate to admit defeat, I don't think there's much we can do about him."

"Perhaps I could pay him a little visit."

"Normally I wouldn't hesitate to agree, but you've already…" Excella paused here and brought her voice down to a whisper, "…_killed _Stanton. Do you know how inconvenient it'd be if Tricell started realizing that the people who target me are dropping like flies?"

For a second Wesker was there, staring down at her from besides the window.

Then, there was a blur of motion, and before she could finish closing her mouth, Excella found herself staring directly at her own shocked reflection in his sunglasses. She gave a gasp of surprise when he reached up and grabbed her by the chin with one gloved hand. He tilted her head gently upwards and smiled a smile that caused all the goose bumps to rise on her arms.

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Excella shuddered involuntarily and she turned her head to the side, jerking out of his touch. She found herself breathing hard, and she hastily turned away so that he wouldn't see the fear in her eyes. _Fear? Was it really fear?_ she thought to herself. Yes, it had to be, she reasoned, after all, her heart was thumping and her mouth suddenly felt drier than the Sahara desert.

"Alright. But be warned, Moretti's well protected. It won't be that easy, sneaking into his mansion. I assume that's what you plan on doing?"

"It won't be problem."

"If you say so," she paused and glanced sideways, unsure of what to say. Wesker, on the other hand, headed away toward the door.

His hand grazed the metal handle.

"When will we meet again?" she blurted out, unable to stop herself.

He grinned. "Let's just say I have an inkling that, this Moretti will invite you to an exquisite dinner next Tuesday. Perhaps to apologize to you, maybe even discuss some future, possible business plans? I'm sure you'll get the invitation in the mail."

With that, he stepped through the doorway and was gone, leaving Excella standing alone in the office. She took a few steps toward the door and peeked out. A researcher in a white lab coat who had happened to pass by waved at her, but other than him, there was no one else in sight.

_As expected, I suppose, _Excella thought with a shrug, closing the door and returning to her chair. She sat down, hearing it creak familiarly as her weight settled in. Instead of opening the computer to work, however, she took a moment to look around her office. Her eyes wandered over the water damaged, peeling wallpaper, at the shiny, worn carpet on the ground and at the numerous cracks in the ceiling. She ran a hand over her desk, feeling the dents and scratches it contained.

On any normal day, these observations would have made her broil in anger, motivating her to work harder, to out match those bastards who kept pushing her down.

Today, however, was different.

She smiled, grabbed a cigarette on her desk and lit in. Sitting back on her chair, she mulled over what color wallpaper to get, mentally reminding herself to call the interior designer the minute she got home.

* * *

Author's Note: A shorter chapter this time, my apologies. However, it was much easier to write for some odd reason. I guess my writer's block must be disintegrating.

By the way, does anyone else get the feeling that Excella's character is kind of like a warning from Capcom to the fan girls? It's like: "Look! Here's a person who fell in love with your blond megalomaniac and see what happens! She gets horribly killed and betrayed. Stop fangirling over the villain for goodness sake!" I don't think it helped much, however. XD

As always, thanks for the reviews guys!


	3. Chapter 3

EDITED: 5/7/12 As I did with the other chapters, changed the dialogue around, cleaned up sentences.

EDITED: 7/19/12 Some very minor changes.

* * *

**The Devil's Queen**

Chapter 3

"Dear god…what the hell _are_ you?"

The man was crouched on his knees, one hand over his mouth as he stared in horror at the silhouette in front of him. Behind him, the butler's decapitated body lay twisted in the corner, blood draining from the stump of his neck. All that was left was a ragged hole, strands of warm flesh hanging off the edges and the remnants of a spinal cord jutting out from one side. Blood seeped lazily in between the threads of the lavish Arabian carpet, the dark stain spreading slowly in all directions.

The silhouette was leaning nonchalantly against the wall. "As I said, Adrian, do what I say and there won't be any further complications."

"Please…I'll do anything, just don't…don't…hurt me, please."

The crouched figure shrank further down into a quivering bow.

"You remember what I told you, right?"

"Yes, yes, I do…"

"Repeat it."

"First, I…I, uh, a-authorize the animal testing license on Gionne's—"

"_Miss_ Gionne."

"—on Miss Gionne's lab…and d-discuss possible…um…b-b-business contracts…and provide assistance…when needed…"

"Good, good," the shadowed man purred, as if he was addressing an obedient dog. He left his spot from besides the window and stopped to examine an exotic, pewter chalice displayed on a wooden bureau. Flicking a gloved finger at the artifact, he smiled in satisfaction as it rang out, loud and clear. The man on the ground, who had been tensely following his movements, flinched at the noise, and scrambled nervously to one side.

"And the dinner?" Albert Wesker said smoothly, ignoring the man's nervous whimpers. In one deft motion, he picked up the chalice and slipped it discreetly into one of his coat pockets.

"Y-yes, of course, the dinner. I'll start p-preparing for it, right away," the man gasped, backing away on four limbs like a grotesque crab. One hand brushed against the bloodied corpse in the corner and he gave a shrill squeak of surprise, leaping quickly aside in revulsion.

"Oh, and…Adrian, be sure to have some wine at the dinner. Something nice, please. None of that cheap watery liquid they serve at those Tricell fundraisers of yours."

"O-of course." The man had his knees drawn up to his chest and was pale as the corpse lying beside him.

"Well then, I'm glad we had this talk. I'm looking forward to Tuesday." With the chalice in his pocket, Wesker turned sharply around and sauntered toward the exit, the bottom of his black duster brushing the cowering man as he passed by. At its touch, Moretti lost all the color that was left in his face and began to shake uncontrollably.

As Wesker stepped near the door, one of his boots sank into the bloodied carpet corner with a horrifying squish. He paused briefly and regarded the stain beneath his feet as if it was a contemporary piece at an art gallery.

"You might want to consider replacing the carpet, Adrian. I don't think any amount of washing will get that blood out. Pity," he added with a sigh. "It was a nice addition to the room."

He kicked aside the corpse's arm, which had been blocking the doorway, and stepped into the hallway. The wooden door slammed shut as he left, leaving the owner of the house curled up in a ball of terror besides his dead butler.

* * *

Excella watched the trees whip pass through the tinted window of her limousine. Rows of neatly trimmed emerald hedges blurred by, punctuated with the occasional bright crimson and flashing violet of an expertly arranged flower pot. Behind them, Excella could see an imposing forest stretching out in all directions, the jagged peaks forming a zigzag across the twilight horizon.

_So this is where Tricell's money is going_, she thought to herself, as they passed yet another elaborate, stone archway. She could just barely make out the actual house at the end of the paved path, shyly peeking out over the foliage. Excella restlessly smoothed down her new indigo halter dress, the thin silk fabric sliding down between the grooves of her fingers. Her old one had been so splattered with Stanton and his bodyguards' innards that she had been forced to burn it in the fireplace.

"Miss Gionne, the house is just up ahead," said the new driver. This one had a nasally voice, but he was professional enough. She had been forced to replace the old chauffeur as well, after that bloody night. He had lost his mind and shot himself through the head with a shotgun—or so the newspapers had reported.

Excella reached into her purse on the empty seat beside her, and pulled out a dainty, white card decorated with elaborate gold borders. The words _Miss Excella Gionne_ were stitched in neat flowery cursive at the center of the invitation.

_To think that he actually followed through…_she thought to herself as she fingered the thick paper. Looking up, she saw that they had reached the entrance of the mansion, an ancient, Victorian style manor complete with flowering ivy creeping up the cracks in its stone walls. In the center of the roundabout driveway stood an impressive metal fountain in the figure of a lion, a stream of clear, sparkling water gushing out of its open jaws. A servant stood waiting by the double wooden doors, and upon seeing the vehicle drive up, disappeared into the house.

Excella took a glance in the rearview mirror, readjusting her hair with deft, practiced motions, before stepping out to the paved walk way, ready to meet one of her worst enemies in the Tricell business: the one and only Adrien Moretti. She sauntered up to the luxurious entrance, her familiar, confident smile planted on her haughty features.

Her milky pale fingers had just barely brushed the bronze handles when the door swung open, missing her face by a few centimeters. Taking a step back, she watched as a frog faced man in an unexcitingly gray suit stepped out into the doorway. He was short and unfit, with several chins hiding behind his original one and pudgy, deformed fingers that reminded Excella of sausages. The buttons on his tuxedo were pushed to their limits. What was left of his wiry, black hair was slicked and oiled back, leaving a protruding forehead in its absence.

"Ah…E-excella! You're here!" Moretti stammered, straightening up in a mild shock as if her appearance was unexpected. Trepidation flashed across his face, and he began to wring his sweaty hands nervously. "Come on in, Miss Gionne. I'm…s-so glad you could come…"

Excella raised an eyebrow. Surely this wasn't the Adrian Moretti she knew. Where was the rude, brutal lawyer that had spat obscenities at her across the Tricell conference tables? _This_ Moretti had a pale, graying face and dark circles around his eyes, as if he hadn't slept for days. His bulging eyes darted back and forth and a shadow of a beard was growing out of his chin. He flinched at the slightest noise, even jumping back in surprise when Excella's chauffeur slammed the car door shut. _Whatever caused this change must be a work of a God, _she thought to herself with a sly grin. _After all, Moretti was the last person she had expected to invite her to a dinner, much less address her as "Miss Gionne."_

She followed the man into the foyer of the mansion, the servant by the doorway politely taking her coat and disappearing into one of the many hallways of the house. Moretti said nothing through the short journey, stopping only once when he heard a door slam shut from some secluded corner of the house. He froze like a deer in headlights at the noise, anxiously shooting paranoid glances left and right, before continuing on.

They made their way into the dining room, and Moretti motioned for Excella to sit down in one of the dark redwood chairs. There was a young man with sandy blond hair, whom Excella faintly recognized, already seated on the opposite end of the table. He was one of Tricell's numerous clerks and had often helped Moretti with legal paperwork.

The man greeted Excella with a pleasant smile and a wave of the hand, an expression that was shockingly different from their host's constant, quivering demeanor. Once Excella had settled into her seat, Moretti muttered something about checking on the kitchen, before scurrying off through a side door.

"So, Moretti invited you as well?" Excella asked the young man when their host had left the room.

"Actually, uh, Miss Gionne," the man said with a sheepish, apologetic smile. "Mr. Moretti asked me to help out with the paperwork today."

"Paperwork?"

"Yes, about the animal license? Mr. Moretti told me, a few days ago, to organize some papers that should greatly improve your access to test subjects," the clerk answered, reaching down to his attaché case and pulling out several paper-clipped stacks. "He's doing you a great favor. After this, you'll pretty much be able to request anything – or anyone— for your research."

_Albert's been busy…_Excella thought to herself as she watched the man shuffle through the business papers. _I must remember to ask him how he got that stubborn headed mule Moretti to agree to all this. _

"Your boss does not seem to be in the best of moods," Excella said. The clerk nodded in agreement, the sides of his eyebrows drooping down in worry.

"He's been like that for the past three days," he added in a lowered voice. "I don't know what has gotten into him."

"I'm sure it will pass." She felt a little surge of triumph in her heart. _Take that, Moretti._ "In the meantime," she paused to glance at the empty chairs around the dining table. "Do you know if Adrian invited anyone else besides you and me?"

As if cued by a signal, the main doors of the dining room flung open dramatically and a new guest sauntered in, the light from the antique chandelier above glimmering off his iconic shades. He was dressed in a snappy, slim suit of jet black, identical to the one he had worn to the Tricell fundraiser, but lacking the blood stains and human matter.

Without pausing or greeting the other two, he walked wordlessly over to one side of the table and picked up the bottle of wine sitting on the table cloth. He held it up in one gloved hand to read the label on the side.

"Hm…Margaux. Very nice. Very nice, indeed." Wesker flipped it over on its side to read the description on the back silently, leaving the other two occupants equally startled and confused. Excella, now habituated to his sudden appearances, was the first to recover.

"Albert," she said, careful not to reveal his surname. The last thing she needed was Tricell getting wind of the identity of her new companion. "So nice of you to join us."

The poor clerk, still flustered at the situation in front of him –specifically the idea that some unknown stranger had burst into the dining room without the least bit of greeting— stammered a few broken syllables before finally saying, "D-do….you want to open that? There's a bottle opener right over here." He reached out to hand it to the blond.

"There's no need," Wesker answered. Still holding the bottle, he drew a small knife from his pocket and swiftly uncorked it. He poured a glass for himself before passing it over to the clerk. The young man took the bottle and stared helplessly at it for a moment, before placing it back down on the table.

"I-I'm sorry to intrude," he stuttered to the incomer. "But, who exactly are you, sir? I was under the impression that this was a private business meet—"

"Adrian invited me. To help with the business tonight. Speaking of which, where _is_ our dear host?"

"He went to check on the cook," Excella answered from the other side of the table.

She had hardly finished her sentence before the dining room doors opened once more and an agitated Moretti appeared by the doorway.

"I'm sorry for the delay, the chef seems to have—"

The man's jaw dropped abruptly as his eyes focused onto the newest guest. He gave a little squeak of astonishment and took a quavering step back into the doorway.

"W-when…?" Moretti gasped, the color draining from his face. Excella arched an eyebrow as he watched the frog-faced man trembling in Wesker's presence. He looked ready to soil his pants, and she felt a small twinge of pity for the wretched fool. She knew how threatening the blond could appear.

Their host stood frozen in his spot for a good minute before finally gathering what was left of his nerves and stammering out an apology. "T-the chef's working on the m-meal. It'll be out a-any minute now…"

"It's not a problem," Excella said, fearful that the man might break down crying if this went on. She didn't want to pity the abomination any more than she had to. "We can wait."

"We can go over the forms in the meantime," the clerk offered as well, holding up the stack of papers.

"Yes, we should," Wesker added. Moretti flinched noticeably when he heard the smooth timbre of the man's voice. "Have a seat and relax, Adrian. No one's going to…_lose_ their head over a late dinner."

Moretti gulped visibly at these words and walked jerkily over to his seat like a man possessed.

* * *

The rest of dinner turned out to be by far one of the most surreal experiences that Excella had ever encountered in her life. While the clerk informed them on about the legal issues of the license, Moretti fidgeted anxiously in his chair, barely touching his food and sweating continuously as if he were a criminal on trial. Wesker, on the other hand, finished his plate calmly and systematically, stopping occasionally only to suggest modifying a section or two of the new contract. Upon hearing this, the clerk would cast a questioning glance at his boss, who would respond by furiously nodding his head up and down. All this while, Excella picked at the three course dinner (the oppressive atmosphere had significantly diluted her appetite) and signed the papers obediently where the clerk indicated. Perhaps it was her host's constant agitation that was affecting her, but she soon found herself refilling her wine glass several times throughout the meal. By the end, she was starting to feel a bit unsteady on her feet.

"Well then, that about finishes it, Miss Gionne," said the clerk as he stacked the loose files together and placed them into his attaché case. "Are there any last additions or modifications that any of you two would like to add?"

Moretti glanced anxiously at the blond sitting at the opposite end of the table. Wesker shook his head.

"Excellent work, all of you," the blond said, clapping his hands in mock celebration. "Now, how about some dessert Adrian?"

"O-of course, sir…r-right away…." Moretti clambered rigidly upright and shuffled away, all the while keeping his beady, frightened eyes locked onto the Wesker.

Excella paused in the middle of finishing the last bit of her steak to observe the curious exchange between the two men. Moretti was trembling so hard that he was having trouble clambering out of his seat without stumbling. Wesker, on the other hand, was lounging lazily back in his chair, as if he was completely unaware of their host's strange behavior.

And then it dawned on her.

Here she was, sitting in the dining room of one of her mortal enemies, signing papers that would essentially give her complete power over him. Never in her wildest dreams would she have ever imagined this happening, least of all in this fashion. And it was all because of him: the stony faced man sitting across the table from her, calmly adjusting his shades with gloved fingers. _He_ had made her dreams come true in an instant. Sure, it had been easy for Wesker, with his inhuman power, but why had he done it? _Why help someone as insignificant and weak as me? _she thought to herself. Was it something superficial?

No, it couldn't be. He was nothing like the numerous suitors she had encountered through the years; those stupid, obsessive sheep who had been willing to give up their lives and their entire careers for her "love." This was something different. There was something that he wanted from her, something that he couldn't get himself, even with his physical strength and precious data. But what was it? Was it really just the chance to control of one of Tricell's puny, insignificant little labs? _Time will eventually tell, _she thought to herself. _But in the meantime, I can still make use of his strength. It might be a dangerous game, but I'm willing to play it. _

As if listening in on her thoughts, Wesker abruptly looked up from his drink and flashed her an enigmatic smirk. Excella felt a shiver run up her spine. The room temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees. She couldn't help turning her eyes away from his reflective shades and instead, opted to stare out the Victorian window at the garden courtyard just outside the dining room door.

"Mr. Moretti has a wonderful yard, don't you agree?" remarked the clerk, when he saw Excella gazing out the window. "He recently had it re-landscaped."

"Oh, did he?" she said. "Perhaps I'll have a look around, before the dessert arrives." She had a sudden urge to get away from Wesker's piercing, unreadable stare.

"I'll tell Mr. Moretti when he comes back," said the clerk in a helpful tone. Excella nodded, and walked out the back door without glancing back.

* * *

Outside, Excella sat down on one of the carved, stone benches that had been placed periodically through the yard. This area, like the rest of Moretti's house, was expertly decorated. Large hedges lines the border of the house, and stone pots brimming with flowers, similar to the ones she'd seen in the front yard, were dispersed at regular intervals along the bushes. An ancient beech tree stood a little ways in front of the garden entrance; looming over an immaculately trimmed moss lawn. The trickle of a fountain could be heard from behind the thick grove of evergreens further away from the house.

The dinner had lasted a good two hours, and the moon had begun to rise in the horizon. She closed her eyes and leaned back so she could feel the night wind blowing coolly on her face. Perhaps it was the effects of the alcohol, but a delirious smile soon tugged irresistibly at the corners of her mouth.

"Tricell will be mine in no time," she whispered to herself, as visions of complete control over the company flashed through her mind's eye. "And to think they said a Gionne could never accomplish anything."

A rather deliberate, forceful cough sounded from behind her, jerking Excella out of her reverie. Turning her upper body around, she craned her neck back to spot a shadowed figure standing silently besides the dark mass of the hedges. His black suit blended well with the night and she would not have spotted him if the full moon had not been illuminating the garden.

Seeing her turn, Wesker stepped out into the open and approached the bench, his expression unreadable. The smooth, gliding motion of his stride reminded Excella of a stalking predator, but this time, there was no urge to run. Instead, she was filled with a sudden wave of awe and respect at the dangerous elegance in his movements.

"I thought you were going to stay for dessert," she asked, when he had reached her.

"It wasn't to my liking."

A crow cawed faintly in the distance as the two stood quietly in the garden.

"You were saying?" Wesker said.

"Saying?"

"About 'Tricell being yours' in no time?"

"Oh, that," she answered, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. "I was only talking to myself. After all, I'm on my way to fulfilling my dreams now. Thanks to you, of course."

"Your success is guaranteed," he echoed, his face still an unreadable mask. Excella smiled at this, and feeling much more relaxed, she placed her arms behind her and leaned back to stare up at the sky.

"I used to think that anyone could be successful, as long as they worked hard. That's what the schools taught and what the teachers told me," she said suddenly, eyes unfocused. "My grandmother, though, thought differently. She took me by the hand one day and told me, 'Don't be foolish, _fanciullo. _They tell you lies. There's only one way anyone can reach the top, and _that _is through power, deceit, manipulation, and sacrifice. You have to snatch the prize through their fingers when they least expect it. _That's_ the way to success.'"

Excella stopped and looked up at Wesker's face to see if there was any response to her words. His reflective shades gave away no hint of his reaction.

"Since then, I've discovered that she was correct. You have to play dirty to get what you want, especially when everyone else is intent on seeing you fail," she continued, her voice bitter. "You can't be afraid to make sacrifices. That's what_ I've_ learned."

Excella paused again, but this time, she stood up and walked slowly around to back of the bench, her thin fingers trailing the engraved patterns on the cold stone. Now she was in front of him, their bodies only inches apart. Placing a slender, pale hand on each of his shoulders, she leaned in close and whispered softly:

"But…Albert Wesker, you know_ all_ about sacrifice, don't you?"

Wesker did not budge from his spot, but a brief look of unease flashed across his stony countenance. It was gone in a split second, replaced with a slight frown and his usual undecipherable expression. However, he made no move to remove Excella's hands from his shoulders.

"You've had too much to drink."

"Perhaps," she replied. "But this conversation is just getting interesting."

"We should get going. Moretti is waiting for us—"

"Do you…regret it?" Excella interrupted.

Wesker's face darkened abruptly at her words and he clenched down suddenly, hard, on her arm, causing her to cringe in pain. It was such an abrupt change that Excella sobered up immediately with the sudden realization that she had just made a very dangerous mistake.

"I suggest we drop the topic right now," he hissed. Excella nodded meekly, tears of pain in her eyes as she tried desperately to wrench her arm away from him. He held on for several seconds, as if waiting for the message to sink in, before releasing her and turning away.

Excella stumbled back to the bench, gasping for breath and massaging her injured arm. Any harder and she was sure that he could have snapped it in half without breaking a sweat. However, she willed herself not to be scared or angry at his violent reaction, all the while reminding herself exactly who it was she was dealing with.

"I'm sorry," the blond said unexpectedly from behind her. The words were smooth, a shockingly abrupt change from his earlier demeanor. "I overreacted."

_So he's trying to win me back, _Excella thought to herself. _Well, two can play that game…_

"It was nothing," she lied, feigning a chuckle but still cradling her throbbing arm. "There's no need for you to apologize."

The crow cawed again in the distance, and Excella licked her lips nervously, unsure of what to say next.

"So, the lab's free for you to use now. It should be much easier for us to conduct the research, now that we have all the access we need."

"Terrific," he said, his voice deadpan. "I wish to start on my project immediately. You have no objections, correct?" Somehow, Excella knew that the question was rhetorical.

"And what exactly will you be researching?"

"You will find out in time."

"Ah, the very model of an Umbrella researcher. Hiding his work away from his benefactor, even to the very end."

"You seem to know a lot about Umbrella, Miss Gionne."

"That's because Tricell always uses it as an example of what we should not be: a failure," she answered with a sinister laugh. Her arm was feeling better now, but she approached the man cautiously, still expecting him to strike at any moment. "But about your research, Albert…even with the access we have now, there's still a problem with funding. Tricell would never approve the research, especially if we were to approach them officially. Somehow, I don't think they would a fancy the idea of an ex-Umbrella employee utilizing their facilities."

"It won't be a problem," he answered. "The clerk inside tells me that he knows a man by the name of Ricardo Irving, who can get us what we need, under the table and away from official eyes."

"Irving? I've heard of him. Resource Division, I believe," she said, tapping her chin with one carefully manicured finger. "I think I recall being introduced to him once at one our conferences."

"The clerk says he can arrange a meeting for us."

"What a generous man," she remarked with a hint of sarcasm. "Quite unnatural for this company. I don't think I've ever seen a speck of kindness in any of the higher ups at Tricell."

"He has of reason for helping us. This Irving is a good friend of his, and was recently demoted down to a low accounting position. Apparently, Tricell caught him dealing with some high risk items on the black market."

"And the clerk believes that we can help him regain his friend's reputation?"

"Precisely."

"And of course, if this all works out, the young clerk gets a bit of the cut for introducing us. How naïve of me to think that altruism exists in a career like this."

"Once we arrange this meeting, you will have to be the one to see Irving personally," Wesker said. "I'll contact you when we decide on a time."

"Will you accompany me?" Excella asked with playful smile. "I might need some protection. He's a complete stranger, after all."

"Judging from your past actions, I'm fairly certain that you can handle him yourself. But, if you insist…I suppose I'll simply have to satisfy your wishes. Shall we return for dessert?" He held out an escorting hand, in a mockingly, chivalrous manner.

Excella stared at his gloved fingers hesitantly, the pain in her arm returning as she remembered his previous, violent outburst. This was a man who could kill her in cold blood, and yet she _still _had the nerve to negotiate with him? _Sometimes I question my own sanity, _she thought to herself. Her heart still beating a staccato rhythm in her chest, she took his arm, and returned his gesture with any equally, mocking curtsy.

She was reminded vaguely of a nature program she once saw, where an animal expert warned the audience about the various dangers hidden in the wilderness. If those predators sense fear, they _will_ attack you, he had said.

_No fear,_ she thought and willed her trembling hands not to betray her emotions.

"I thought you didn't like the dessert." She hoped the conversation would take her mind off his unnaturally stony grip.

"I'll ask for a different menu," Wesker answered. "I'm sure Adrian will oblige."

"He seems awfully ready to serve you." When they reached the door, Wesker stepped forward first and pulled it open, motioning for her to enter.

"Ladies first?"

"Of course." Although her voice was calm, she suddenly felt a bit reluctant to step over the threshold._ There's no turning back on this,_ she thought to herself. _I either conspire with this man and embrace the danger, or spend the rest of my life pounding at that damn glass ceiling._ She paused for a brief second.

"Of course," she repeated once again, looking up at the blond and flashing her sweetest smile.

And then she stepped through the doorway.

* * *

Wrote this chapter very sporadically over a three month period. I guess it explains the length, I suppose. Review please! :D


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I'm not following the official back story totally, though much of it is left open to the imagination. I think I mixed up the order of some of the events, but I think I like it better this way. I hope no one minds…

EDITED 5/10/12. The usual, cleaned up a lot of dialogue. Tried to fix some POV issues in this chapter and switched some stuff around in an attempt to make Excella seem more in character.

EDITED 7/19/12. Minor changes.

* * *

**The Devil's Queen**

Chapter 4

Excella stepped out of the limousine and onto the sandy, gravel path. Her high heels sank straight down into the uneven dirt, and she wobbled unsteadily for several seconds before finding her balance. Directly ahead, she could see a rocky, remote beach and a sliver of sea lining the horizon beyond. The smell of salt water tingled her nose and a cool ocean breeze raised goose bumps on her bare arms.

Shuddering, she ignored the cold and focused her eyes instead on the tiny, dilapidated building at the end of the gravel path. The walls were the color of dirty gray sneakers. A number of its roof tiles had fallen away, leaving an odd crossword puzzle design in its absence. Weeds had overrun its hastily constructed entrance way, and the cheap plaster walls were cracked and crumbling apart. The building had obviously been neglected for years.

Hearing the car door slam behind her, Excella turned to her side to see Wesker step out of the vehicle. As usual, he had on his dark shades and uncannily, wrinkle-free black suit. Straightening up, he adjusted his glasses with one hand and tugged on his suit with the other, a familiar movement that Excella had since associated with her mysterious companion.

"Are you sure this is the correct location?" she said, eyeing the building suspiciously.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"For one thing, Tricell is a billion dollar corporation. And _that_," –she pointed a finger at the shack—, "looks like a safe house for some backwater drug dealer"

"Not everything the company owns needs to be a candidate for a worldwide architecture competition."

"But that thing is absolutely horrid_._ I can't believe Tricell would be willing to taint its name with such a miserable thing."

"Keep in mind, this location is merely for accounting. It has no need to be extravagant."

"Accounting? It doesn't look like it even gets electricity."

"On the contrary, those electricity poles over on the right—" Wesker started, his usual deadpan voice sprinkled with a hint of amusement.

"It was a rhetorical question."

"I know."

Turning, Excella motioned for her driver to wait at the spot, before pulling her fur shawl closer around her and starting down the path. She wondered briefly if she had overdressed for the occasion, with her cream colored, tube dress and glimmering silver jewelry. At least the shawl, its tendrils of fur flattened down by the wind, was keeping her warm in the sea side weather.

Wesker followed behind her, his footsteps extraordinarily silent, as usual. The path was difficult to navigate, uneven, and largely overrun by sturdy weeds. Some had even flourished to the point that they reached knee height, and Excella was forced to tiptoe around them.

"This Irving," Excella said as they walked. "How did he manage to end up in a place like this?"

"Tricell caught him dealing with some high-risk items on the black market."

"I thought Irving was supposed to be helping Tricell buy resources through the black market. Isn't that why they hired him?"

"Of course. But he was spotted by the police, and when something like that happens, Tricell needs a scapegoat."

"So they put the blame on the agent, and throw him out."

"Correct. Once the employee has been compromised, Tricell knows that he's of little use. He was careless enough to get caught, and therefore isn't fit for the job. Then they force him down into the most remote and useless division in the company, so that he's out of their way."

"And, at the same time, under their control. They can't have him spilling their secrets out to the world," Excella said, as they reached the door of the building. "What I don't understand is why they didn't just silence him, permanently. It would have been quicker and cleaner."

"Tricell has its reasons. For one thing, he might be genuinely useful," Wesker answered, stepping up besides her. "Or, it may be that there simply has been too many unexplained disappearances of Tricell employees lately, and yet another one would catch the interest of the government."

"In other words, saved by luck."

"Perhaps."

Standing directly in front of the door, Excella was able to see the details of the building up close. The distance had masked many of its imperfections. Now that she was a few feet away, she could see dirty black stains on the walls, broken glass on the floor, and even a few bullet holes near the corners. One window was in such pitiful condition that it appeared completely opaque. A trash can stood a few yards to one side, overflowing and swarming with flies. Excella wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight, and edged away.

Loud, grating rock music could be heard somewhere inside the shack. It drifted out from behind the door, the pulsating beat of the bass resonating through the thin walls. Excella flashed an incredulous look at Wesker, before rapping the door sharply with one pale, delicate hand.

No response could be heard, and the music continued as before. Excella knocked again, this time louder, and stood back, her foot tapping impatiently on the ground. From the corner of her eye she could see Wesker standing slightly to the side of her shoulder. He was motionless, and not the slightly swaying 'motionless' that one would associate with a regular human being. He was, quite literally, as still as a statue. There could have been a frozen, wax figure behind Excella, and she would not have been able to tell the difference. It was moments like these that reminded her regularly that her companion was not the least bit human.

Footsteps sounded over the pounding rock music, accompanied with a few muffled yells and a loud crash, as if someone had accidently knocked over something large and metal. The music abruptly died off, and the door clicked as the latches were undone. A rather, dull-looking face popped out, bland, chubby and not the least bit attractive. The man's dim eyes stared at the two visitors for a few minutes, as if debating their existence.

"Um…can I help you?" he said hesitantly. It was obvious that there had not been any visitors for quite a while.

"Ricardo Irving?" Excella asked. She considered offering a handshake, but decided against it. The man didn't look very sanitary, and she didn't wish to risk contracting some type of disease.

"Oh," the man replied, obviously pleased that he didn't need to deal with the two newcomers. "You're looking for Irving, he's inside. Just a minute, let me get him. I think he's napping."

"I am _not_ fucking asleep!" came a heavily muffled voice from further inside. "How the fuck am I supposed to sleep over you're goddamn music?"

The man smiled sheepishly and nodded towards the back of the room. "That's him. I'll get him to the door."

He turned away and disappeared into the room, leaving Excella and Wesker at the doorway. From the crack of the opening, Excella could see a dank, filthy chamber, piled high with dusty electronic equipment. Wires littered the wooden floor, twisted into one another, like giant tangles of blue and green snakes. The constant whirring of computers could be heard in the background. Excella managed to flash yet another skeptical look at Wesker, before someone appeared by the door.

It was a lean man of medium height. He had a mop of thin, brownish hair, and beady, clever eyes that darted back and forth between the two visitors. His striped shirt was rumpled and stuck out at various angles beneath a faux leather jacket. A large and golden, but obviously fake, chain encircled his skinny neck and his metal watch made a cheap, hollow tinkling sound as it brushed by the doorway. There was an air of uncertainty that surrounded the man, as if he was attempting to make up for something he did not have with an overblown, excessiveness.

Ricardo Irving did not open the door completely, but instead peeked his head out cautiously and stared at the pair for several long seconds.

"You ain't here to kill me, are ya?" he said abruptly. He voice came out in a shrill whine, heavy with some obscure variant of a New York accent.

"Wherever would you get that idea?" Excella answered.

"Well, you can never be too cautious," Irving said. "I'm a wanted man, ya know? I know too much. Someday, they'll come and get me, and I'll disappear off the face of the earth, and ain't no one gonna know what happened…"

"Well, we aren't here to kill you," Excella interrupted. She'd always had a certain loathing for cowardly people, and Irving's sniveling nature annoyed her greatly. "We're here to talk. Someone referred us to you. Did you not get a message?"

"I did. Youse two from Tricell, am I right? I got the message, alright. Just wanted to be sure." He opened the door completely and gestured for them to enter. "This way, there's a meeting room in the back where we can talk."

Excella stepped into the room, carefully avoiding the overturned computers and unlabeled disks scattered around the floor of the tiny entrance. Wesker followed behind her, silent and unreadable.

The music was suddenly turned on again from somewhere to their left. It had been switched to heavy metal, and the sound of piercing electric guitars blared painfully in Excella's ear drums. She winced as she followed Irving into a narrow, claustrophobic passageway past the entrance.

"Don't mind the stupid prick," Irving said with a wave of his hand. "He's always playing that awful crap. I can't evah get any work done around here."

The corridor led to an equally cluttered room in the back of the building. It could hardly be called a meeting room; the only furniture it contained was a plastic, foldable table and several mismatched chairs and stools. Large stacks of yellowed newspapers and crumpled printouts were nestled in each corner, collecting dust and filth. An old white board with a large crack down the middle hung on one side of the wall, but no dry erase markers or any other writing utensils could be found.

"Have a seat," Irving said motioning toward the chairs. The door creaked atrociously as he closed it, and he sat down by the opposite end of the table. He leaned back casually in his chair and placed his feet on the table in front of him. Dust and paper bits flew and Excella tried hard not to sneeze.

Rubbing her nose, she carefully picked her way to one of the stools, brushed off a thick layer of dust resting on its seat, before sitting daintily down. Wesker opted not to sit, and instead leaned against the crooked white board with his arms crossed stoically across his chest.

"So, what's the deal?" Irving asked.

Excella glanced questioningly at Wesker. How much were they supposed to tell the man? The blond didn't return the glance, but instead, turned and addressed Irving himself.

"We're looking to do some private research, some things that Tricell doesn't need to know about," Wesker said. "Without the company's support however, we don't have the funds to get us on our feet."

Irving shot a sidelong glance at the other man, a sly grin plastered on his face. He was obviously finding the whole situation very enjoyable. Here were two higher-ups practically begging him for help. For someone like Ricardo Irving, this type of thing didn't happen very often.

"And who might you be?" he demanded, as if relishing in his momentary power.

"A partner of Tricell," the blond answered coldly. He turned toward the other man, his face a chilling mask beneath the dark shades. A slight shudder ran through Irving's body, and he averted his eyes. Excella knew the feeling; it was something she'd experienced often with Albert Wesker. It was a suffocating sense that there was something very _wrong_ about the man in black, but nothing specific enough that you could put your finger on.

"Geez! I was just wonderin', man!" Irving muttered. "I mean, I know the lady over there,"—he pointed over to Excella. "I've seen her before at some of the banquets and stuff. But I've nevah seen you anywhere."

"He's working for me," Excella added. She hoped her words would quell any further suspicion in Irving. "Can you or can't you provide us with the funds we need?"

Irving's eyes twinkled with excitement, and his movements became quicker, almost childish.

"Of course, who do you think I am? I've been workin' in this business for most my life. I can get you the funds, no problemo," he said. His grin had returned, as he rubbed his hands together energetically. "But I'm bettin' that this project you two have your eyes set on is gonna require a pretty large source of dough, am I right?"

Excella glanced again at Wesker, who nodded in agreement. Irving chewed his lip thoughtfully, and cracked a few knuckles out of habit.

"I think I know a way to get you two what you want. The thing is, where you're at now, it ain't gonna work very well. I mean, I could get you the dough, but not in the quantities you're thinking of. It's just too difficult here in Europe, with Tricell's little sneaky eyes watchin' your every move."

"So? What do we do?"

"Africa. That's the best bet. The black market thrives there; you could sell hundreds of B.O.W.'s to the warlords and get filthy rich, and I _guarantee_ you Tricell will not hear a thing. It's just too muddled, there in the jungle. Too many side deals and under the table shit, and Tricell ain't got the time to sort through all that junk."

"Africa?" Excella said, wrinkling her nose. "No one conducts research in that godforsaken continent. Why not just use my current laboratory? Couldn't you send the money to us?"

Irving shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. It's possible, but wiring so much money around is bound to get someone's attention. The research 'as to be conducted _in_ Africa, where the money's at."

"Easy for you to say. We'd have to build an entire new center down there in order for us to start. That's completely ridiculous."

" About that…," Irving said, drawing out his words. He opened his mouth hesitantly to speak, but abruptly shut it again. His eyes flickered back and forth cautiously between the pair for a few seconds, before he leaned in closer and started speaking in a soft whisper.

"Listen. I've been digging through some of Tricell's databases, and I found some files that they've kept hidden. Apparently, the company owns some old research facility in Africa. This place called, Ki, ki-something." He snapped his fingers. "Kijaj? Kijuj?"

From the corner of her eye, Excella saw Wesker start violently upon hearing Irving's words. His body stiffened in sudden, apt attention, and she could see that his mind was racing wildly at the new information.

"The name's not that important," Irving said, waving the thought away. "It used to be owned by Umbrella, but after its fall, Tricell swooped in and picked it up. But it was too remote and they never found any need to put into use. It's just sittin' there right now. An entire research facility, empty and abandoned! Can you imagine that?"

"It used to be owned by Umbrella, you say?" Wesker said softly, as if he was having a hard time believing the words.

"Yes! And it's not some dinky little hut or something. It's a full research facility! The thing's gotta be several football fields long, and partially underground. I don't remember the exact numbers, but take my word for it; it's _huge_!" Irving motioned outward with his arms to emphasize the word.

Wesker seemed unable to contain himself with some type of emotion, and he fidgeted uncharacteristically as he listened.

"But that's not all," Irving continued. He had noticed Wesker's subtle excitement, and it drove him to an even more animated state. "Listen to this—my informants tell me that there's a whole fucking oil field within miles of the facility! An oil field!" Irving seemed about to fall off his seat in enthusiasm. It was obvious that he had been holding this information in secret for quite a while, and had been waiting for the right people to divulge it to.

"Oil?" Excella said disbelievingly. The whole thing sounded a bit too good to be true. "If there was an oil field down there, how come Tricell hasn't done anything? They should be all over the place by now."

The comment barely phased Irving, and he continued on without hesitation.

"The thing is, Umbrella knew the place was a gold mine, figuratively, of course. But they didn't want no one to know about the potential of the place. Didn't want to get the public's attention. So, they covered it up by saying the place ran dry decades ago. Drew up some fake documents and reports. But the locals know better. They say the place's practically _leakin'_ oil. "

"I don't know if I'd trust some tribal savage over an official report," Excella said, still skeptical.

"It doesn't matter," Irving said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "The facility itself is still valuable as hell, and it's perfect for what you two are planning. It's far from the eyes of Tricell, and is teemin' with cheap labor in the indigenous populations. And, if my sources are correct, _if_ the oil fields ain't dry…"

Excella could almost imagine the man's pupils morph into dollar bill signs as he savored the idea.

"You're sure that it used to be owned by Umbrella?" Wesker interrupted. It seemed to Excella that he was still ruminating over that particular fact and wasn't quite caught up with the conversation yet. His face was twisted into a strange, agitated countenance that she found difficult to categorize.

"Yes, yes," Irving answered impatiently. "Used to be owned by Umbrella. I think it said that it was one of the pharmaceutical giant's first facilities, back in the 1900's. Of course, that would mean that most of the equipment there is out of date, so we'll have to budget some money in renovating the place to get it workin'—"

"Wait a minute," Excella cut in, before he could finish. "There's something we haven't discussed yet. How in the world are we supposed to convince Tricell to hand over an entire research facility to us? Or perhaps you think that by fluttering our eyelashes and making puppy dog eyes, they would just throw us the paperwork?"

Irving stared at Excella as if she was speaking a foreign language. "What do ya mean?"

"I don't know if you've heard, but I'm not exactly Tricell's favorite employee. They're not just going to _give_ me the facility to use."

"Oh. Y-you don't think you can persuade them?"

"Maybe in time, but not now. I don't have the authority or the leverage for that. You'd have to be at least, I don't know, head of the division to make those kinds of decision. And I'm sure the current one doesn't give a damn about me or my research."

"We can do it." Wesker's voice sounded unusually strained, as if he was forcing himself to mask any sign of emotion. However, it was obvious to Excella that _something_ in their conversation has strongly piqued the man's interest, and he was just barely containing his excitement. It was strange to see his usual, taciturn demeanor disappear and replace itself with a kind of boiling agitation. "Like you said. We just need time."

"Time to do what?"

"Time to move up Tricell's ladder and get close to the top." In a flash, Wesker was suddenly up close to Excella, his face right next to hers. "Didn't I promise you, Excella? With my help you _will_ get to the higher ups. Maybe even become a division head yourself."

"Have you gone mad?" Excella said, unnerved at Wesker's sudden enthusiasm. "It would take decades to get enough influence to become the head of a Tricell division. That's not something that happens overnight."

"That's what I'm here for," Wesker answered. "With my research and data, I can make you known in Tricell. Soon the board of directors will be clambering all over themselves to give us that facility. I can make it happen."

"Right. And say I become division head," Excella said, rolling her eyes. "Then what?"

"Then we get this abandoned center, _and_ the freedom to do whatever we want with it," Wesker paused for a second here, before leaning in closer and whispering directly into her ear. "Think about it, Excella. Not only is the place rich with resources and far away from Tricell, with you as head of the Africa division, no one would even think of questioning our work. I'd have complete freedom to conduct my research there and you— _you_ would be what you've always wanted to be: the most influential woman in the company. "

"This is ridiculous," Excella muttered. True, becoming a division head at Tricell was far more that she had ever dreamt of, but how in the world could he possibly imagine getting her into a position like that? It was a pipe dream, a fantasy….a fantasy from a man who has been consistently analytic, scheming, and cool-headed throughout their short relationship. She pursed her lips.

Wesker straightened up and faced Irving.

"However, we'll need some extra funding right now. If we can create a convincing enough project and present it to Tricell, they might be persuaded enough to give us the facility."

"I can work that out. You have some old, defunct strands of the T-virus? If I sell them right, I can get some black market buyers interested. Those fucking terrorists will pay anything to get their hands on some of that stuff, even if the damn thing barely even works."

"I'll send you some samples."

"Sounds good," Irving said with a nod. "Though, um…pardon my curiosity, but what type of 'convincing' project do you have planned? I mean, whatever it is, its really gonna have to 'wow' Tricell's board of directors, ya know what I mean?

"The Las Plagas."

"They've already _done_ research on the Plagas before," Excella said impatiently. She was getting annoyed. What was Wesker thinking, going on about this crazy notion of his? Excella Gionne, head of division at Tricell? No matter how she stretched her mind, it still seemed impossible, especially in the short timeframe Wesker was proposing. "Tricell doesn't think it's very useful, not without a full control plaga sample, which no one has been able to procure—"

"I can make it better," Wesker cut in. "I can improve the Plaga, with the subordinate sample I have. With some severe modifications and time, it can theoretically be controlled. If we succeed, we don't need the control sample at all. Excella, you can present Tricell with the preliminary data, predicted success rates, a rough layout of the research, maybe even a sample product. Once they see it, they will be throwing you research facilities left and right."

Excella scoffed. She wasn't buying it. She'd _seen_ the men at Tricell, she knew first-hand what they were like. They'd shoot her down the minute word got out that she was aiming for division head. It just wasn't possible. And if they rejected the idea, which they would, she would be the laughing stock of the entire company for the rest of her life.

"You're delusional," she muttered under her breath.

"Well, your lady-friend there doesn't seem so sure about this," Irving said to Wesker with a wry smile. "But hey! I can't get any worse than I am, so I'm willin' to give it a try. I'll help you two out, but….BUT. Say you succeed and get that facility…I want in on the dough you rake up. I want that oil, capisce?"

"Of course," Wesker answered softly, in an unusually gentle voice that sent goose bumps up Excella's arm. Irving paled drastically, and for a moment, Excella expected him to dive out the door and run away, like a hunted rabbit fleeing for its life. Instead, he swallowed hard, stood up and brushed the dust off his cheap jacket.

"W-well then, looks like we're done h-here. I gotta get back to work, or else the idiot out there's gonna get suspicious and rat me out. You two can find your way out, right?"

Wesker nodded, but Excella remained sitting in her chair, arms crossed and unmoving.

"Alright-y then. Uh…guess I'll be going. I'll see you around. Contact me whenever you need to," Irving muttered nervously, before he edged out the door and disappeared into the hallway.

* * *

Excella didn't say anything until the door closed behind Irving.

"_Sei pazzo,_" she muttered. "This idea of yours. Preposterous. I can't go through with it. Did you ever think about how it's me who has to do the talking? That it's me who has to face those senile old men and see their snickering faces when I tell them that I want a new facility, or become the head of the Africa division? You know how much of a laughing stock I'll be? I have the reputation of the Gionne family to keep and I've been in this business long enough to know that this is not going to work. I'm sorry Albert, but I'm not going through with this."

"You don't believe that I can improve the Las Plagas? Is that it?" His voice was soft, emotionless.

"I don't think it's enough to persuade them. I hate to pierce your idealistic bubble, but they're stubborn fools, the whole lot of them. Even an amazing research achievement like you propose won't sway them enough to give me that facility." She was frustrated. Frustrated at him for his naivety in the matter, and frustrated at herself for wanting for it all to be true. It was tempting, his talk of division heads and giant research facilities, yet she knew that it would only end in failure. _Her _failure.

"You don't trust my plans."

"How am I supposed to?" she snapped. "Has it ever occurred to you that I don't even know what you plan to do with that facility? I don't even know what this whole 'research' you talk about it supposed to be. You told me on that balcony that this would be partnership. And last I heard, a partnership involves the mutual sharing of information."

"I've helped you so far. Is that not enough?" he asked. It surprised her that he didn't seem the slightest bit angry at her accusations. Excella even thought she spied a slightly amused grin on the corners of his mouth, which only annoyed her even more.

"I _know_ you've helped me. You've given me so much in the past few months, more than I could possibly have imagined. But I don't jump into things that I know are not going to work out. And this, this is one of those things. I might as well be throwing myself to the wolves if I do what you say. And besides, what's so special about that particular facility? Why can't you just settle for something else?"

"The facility is special," Wesker said. His voice had changed abruptly into a flat monotone and the shadow of a smile had disappeared. "It's perfect for what I plan to do."

"You mean this 'oh-so-special project' that you haven't told me about?" Excella sneered. "How do you expect me to put myself out on the line for some endeavor that I know nothing about?"

In the back of her mind, Excella knew that she was probably forcing his patience, but her sudden flurry of frustration has temporarily nullified the thought. Now, however, a sudden flash of memory reminded her of the parking lot where they had first met. A flash of black, a spurt of blood, and those bodyguards had been ripped apart with his bare hands. And she could see those hands now, gloved, as usual, adjusting the blond's sunglasses for the umpteenth time. Excella suddenly regretted her words.

Wesker stepped forward so that they were just inches apart.

"So," he said quietly, almost in a whisper. "You want to know what I'm up to, is that it?"

"N-no, well...," Excella floundered. Her earlier rage had dissipated completely with his proximity, and little shivers of fear were crawling up her spine. "I'm just not sure about this. I don't think it's going to work, and I don't want to take the risk." She struggled to keep her voice under control, and resisted the urge to step away from the man. She could almost imagine it, his hands grabbing hold of her neck and twisting. A quick crack and she'd be dead before she knew it.

To her surprise, Wesker only let out a long, uncharacteristic sigh.

"I understand," he said. "I know it must be difficult for you to do this, but, you've got to understand Excella—" he put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes—"I need you. I can't accomplish anything without you. You're the key to everything."

Excella was so astonished at his sudden change of attitude that she found herself at a loss of words. She could see her own gaping mouth from the reflection of his sunglasses.

He continued speaking despite her silence, his voice so soft and low that she had to strain her ears to hear.

"I promise I'll let you know everything, in due time. We'll be partners…maybe even more than that. But for now, Excella. You have to trust me and do what I say. I know what I'm doing. But I can't do it without _you_."

His words were soothing, almost hypnotic, and Excella had to repeat them in her mind several times before they sank in. When they did however, she suddenly became aware of his hands for the first time, and shook them off her shoulders in shock.

Some little voice in the back of her head was screaming out a warning, telling her to leave now, and get as far away from the man as she possibly could. But one look at his face shut off the alarms going off in her mind. He looked so sincere. So…earnest. Never before would she have imagined such a face on that man, but there it was. Was it just a façade? Perhaps this was the true Albert Wesker?

_Partners_…_he had said. Maybe even more…_

She shook her head once in an attempt to clear her head and think properly, before looking up once more at the blond.

"How important is it that you get this facility?"

"Very."

It was Excella's turn to sigh, and she rubbed her temples tiredly. She felt like she had just woken up from a long afternoon nap. Everything felt so muddled; she wasn't sure what to think anymore.

"I don't…," she started, but then she caught a glimpse of Wesker and the words stuck in her mouth. For a second, she saw a glance of what seemed like hope, if it could even be described that way, on the man's face. She could almost see the blazing ambition in his eyes piercing through the dark lenses. Wesker _wanted_ the facility, and he _needed _it. She had no idea why the research center was so important, but she knew without a doubt that it was vital to his plans.

_It's a partnership, _Excella reasoned with herself. _He helps me, I help him. _Of course, the acquirement of an entire research center was no small accomplishment, and if she could manage it, well, it would be infinitely more prestigious than the small, compact laboratory she overlooked now. And if in fact he was telling the truth, that absurd notion that he could make her a division head… _Mutual interests,_ she told herself again. _I'm helping him because it helps me. It's for my own benefit. _

_That's right. I'm doing this for myself_.

But in some small corner of her heart she knew that it wasn't true, despite how many times she repeated it.

"Alright, you win. And not because…of anything. I will get what I want right? I'll be a division head of Tricell, correct?"

"I swear."

"But don't get any ideas. I still want to know what you're planning with all this."

"You will know in due time."

"Luckily for you," Excella said, as she started walking towards the exit. "There's a Tricell conference in two month. All the big shots will be there. It'll be a perfect chance to present the new Las Plagas. Can you get it finished by then?"

"Yes, if Irving can get me the materials I need soon enough. I've already done some preliminary work on the topic. I'll need to use your current facility, of course."

Excella nodded. "I'll tell the staff that you're the new head research manager. They won't question me about it."

They made their way outside, back into the salty air and weed covered path. Silently, Excella walked towards her limousine parked on the dirt path. She couldn't hear Wesker behind her, but she knew he was there, following.

They had almost reached the car, when Excella suddenly felt a steely hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

"Excella…," he said.

She turned around to face him.

"I meant what I said in there. When I saw you back at that fundraiser, that first time, I knew that you were special. That's why I chose _you_," he said. "What I have planned is something bigger than anything you can imagine. And when I succeed I want you right there by my side."

"Succeed…?" Excella started to ask, but was cut short when Wesker placed one gloved finger over her lips.

"You'll see in time," he said softly. "But for now…just trust me."

Excella started to answer, but when she looked up at him and saw the confidence and surety in his face, she didn't know what to say. Instead she turned away, confused and flustered, and walked hurriedly back towards the vehicle, clutching her fur shawl protectively around her as she went.

* * *

She had her back turned the whole time, and as a result, didn't catch the sneer on Wesker's face as he watched her go. He stood there for a second, observing, like a hawk watching its prey from a distance, before moving on and following her down the path.


	5. Chapter 5

EDITED 5/11/12: Some more dialogue changes. Trying to get Excella more in-character. A few added and changed details.

EDITED 7/19/12: More minor changes.

* * *

**The Devil's Queen**

Chapter 5

"Good evening, Ms. Gionne!"

The new receptionist had a sickeningly sweet voice, a Barbie doll smile, and a body that would have felt right at home on the cover of _Playboy _magazine. She fit well with the new décor of the lobby. Gone were the unseemly concrete slabs, and in their place were sharp, black marble pieces, designed and arranged by the best architect in town. Modern paintings of geometric shapes hung from each of the walls, their blazingly white frames clashing with the midnight marble. An atmosphere of sleek professionalism saturated the room, from the new leather sofas in the corner to the splendid flower arrangement on the reception desk.

After strutting through the facility's entrance, Excella took a minute to bask in its grandeur. It was a tradition of hers, ever since the builders had finished remodeling, to pause and absorb the sight of her rise to fortune. The place smelled of success, and Excella loved every bit of it. Once the minute was up, however, she gave the receptionist an approving nod and headed through the glass security doors into the lab's interior.

Despite the late hour, the facility was bustling with activity. Heading down the main hallway, Excella had to sidestep a dozen or so researchers hustling about in their white lab coats, precariously juggling beakers from hand to hand. The glass windows on either side revealed scientists crowded around expensive electronic equipment, all recently purchased with their new funds. Excella walked right past without a glance. She knew the place by heart, and could have easily found her way to her destination in the dark.

On arrival, she rapped the metal door sharply, twice. Without waiting for an answer, she swiped her security card down the lock mechanism and strolled unceremoniously into the room.

"It's nice to finally know where to find you," she announced as she entered. "I can now live without the fear of having you randomly materialize in my office."

Wesker didn't bother to turn around. He was busy pipetting a clear fluid into a small, plastic test tube. His white lab coat uniform was identical to the researchers outside, save for his usual pair of sunglasses.

"You do know that it's impolite to barge in on people?" he said, without taking his eyes off his work.

"I knocked," Excella answered with a shrug. She dumped her purse and coat onto the office desk near the door, before throwing herself into the swivel chair in front of it. Crossing her legs, she tapped her carefully manicured nails on the wooden table and watched the blond work.

"Guess who I just got off the phone with?" she said.

"Who?" Wesker held the test tube up to eye level, examining its contents.

"The coordinator of the Tricell conference next week. She's agreed to give me a full two hour to present our project to the board."

"Marvelous," Wesker said with just about as much enthusiasm as a garbage collector heading off to work in the morning.

"You should be happy. I was barely expecting to get ten minutes."

Wesker only grunted in reply, before opening the mini centrifuge with a click and sliding the test tube into it. He pressed a series of buttons on the machine, and it let out a loud whirring noise. Excella waited patiently for the machine to finish, before continuing.

"How long have you been in here, anyway? The other researchers say they barely see you outside."

"There's nothing I need outside." Wesker opened a cupboard above the desk and pulled out several petri dishes, before rummaging through another drawer filled with exotically shaped vials.

"You're almost like one of the mad scientists in those black and white films. Locking themselves up inside their precious lab-oh-ratories." She pronounced the "oh" long, with an exaggerated German accent.

"I once had a friend who never left the lab for weeks on end," Wesker remarked, a bit out of the blue. He was holding up one of the dishes to the light and examining its contents. "He'd leave his daughter in the lounge to fend for herself."

"And where was her mother?"

"With the father…working."

"Poor girl," Excella said, though there wasn't much sympathy in her words. She never did like children. "Did you help her out?"

"I'd bring her food, on occasion. The last thing anyone wants is a starving, five-year-old running loose in the workplace."

"Aww…Albert, the babysitter. How sweet. I'm sure you'd make a_ great_ father."

"Is there something you require?" he muttered, impatience creeping into his voice.

"No, not really. Just checking on things."

She picked up a stray piece of paper on the work desk, scanning over the chemical symbols and diagrams on it. From the corner of her eye, she could see Wesker perch his sunglasses on his head to examine something in a microscope. For as second, there was a flash of yellow that caused Excella to do a double take, but by then his eyes were shrouded by the eyepiece.

"So," she said, keeping her eyes peeled on Wesker in hopes of catching another glimpse. "How is the research?"

"Since you've been so _dutifully_ reading those reports I've been sending you, I am sure you know perfectly well what stage we are at," Wesker said. He lifted one hand to adjust the magnification on the microscope.

"Those papers are so dreadfully dull. Why can't you just tell me how the research is progressing?"

Wesker said nothing in reply, but instead lifted a finger and pointed toward the subject containment room in the back. Instinctively, Excella turned her head to glance –only to abruptly remember that she was supposed to be watching Wesker. She snapped her head back to find, to her dismay, that Wesker had already stepped away from the microscope and replaced his sunglasses.

"Take a closer look," he said, nodding towards the back. "Don't be scared, the glass is bulletproof."

"I know that. I ordered it myself when the facility was still under construction." She was irritated at herself for missing a good chance to find out what was behind Albert's ever-present shades.

She left the chair and walked over to the containment room, a rectangular chamber sunken into the back wall. Through the one way glass, Excella could see the interior of the room. It was fairly large, about a hundred square feet, with carbon steel walls sturdy enough to hold a full grown bear. Company protocol dictated that a trained and armed guard had to monitor the entrance at all times. However, Wesker had insisted that he didn't need one. Knowing all too well what the blond was capable of, Excella hadn't hesitated to oblige.

At the moment, the room held one lone occupant. He was dressed in a plain factory uniform and was standing stationary in the center of the floor, facing away from the window. The man was completely motionless; only a slight, up and down breathing motion in the shoulders indicated that he was still alive.

"What exactly am I supposed to be seeing here?"

"Well, what do you see?" Wesker had stepped up beside her, so that they were side by side in front of the window.

"A man." Excella said, raising an eyebrow. "He isn't doing anything. Just standing there. Is he supposed to be a carrier?"

"This man here…this—" Wesker held up a clipboard he had in his hands and peered at the front page. "—Samuel Meyers, has the great honor of being one of the first successful hosts of the modified Las Plagas parasite."

"But…Tricell hasalready triedinfecting subjects with Las Plagas," Excella said hesitantly. "Without a control plaga in proximity, they go mad. Rip each other to shreds. Commit suicide. Reject the parasite. The results were disastrous."

"Very true. The subordinate plaga is completely unable to function without signals from a control plaga. Test results have proven this."

"Hold on." She held up a hand. "You said this man was infected with the Plagas…however, the last control plaga was lost with Osmund Saddler. Tricell doesn't have it, and neither do you. So, how in the world can this man be a Las Plagas carrier?"

"And _that_ is why it's so very important that Mr. Meyers is currently stationary, and _not _throwing himself off the walls and into a bloody mess," Wesker said, tapping the clipboard for emphasis. "I did what I told you: I modified the Las Plagas. There's no need for the control plaga now."

Excella stared hard at Wesker, as a slow realization crept over her features. "So, since….since it's the Las Plagas, it still maintains rudimentary mental functions…right?"

"The modified parasite has every strength the Las Plagas has, _plus _higher infection rates and faster maturation in the host. It's everything the Type-1 is, only better."

"I-incredible," Excella breathed. She placed a slender hand on the glass, as if reaching out to the creature within. "And all in such a short amount of time…"

"I've had the basic ideas sketched out ever since I first got my hands on a Plagas sample. All I needed were the resources—" Wesker turned to look at Excella, an uncharacteristic smile on his face—"and thanks to you, I got everything I needed. This victory is as much _yours_ as it is mine. "

"Oh please," Excella said with an uneasy chuckle. "Don't make me blush."

There was something about Wesker's words that disturbed her. Maybe it was the fact that they seemed out of place coming from such a dangerous human, if he could still even be considered a human. Or perhaps it was the uncanny, hollowness in his voice that set her teeth on edge. It reminded her of a cobra she once saw in an African market, swaying rhythmically to the flute of the snake charmer. A hypnotic dance of death.

However, she shook the feeling away and pushed it to the back of her mind. There was no turning back now.

"There's just one thing," Excella said, gesturing towards the containment room. "How can we command them to do our bidding without the control Plaga? Aren't they just as likely to turn on their masters now?"

"There needs to be more testing done, but I think they can be trained to respond to authority," Wesker replied. "Observe."

He walked over to the side of the window, where an intercom was placed on the wall. Leaning forward, he held a button down on the equipment, and spoke into the microphone:

"Good morning Mr. Meyers. Would you be so kind as to turn this way, so my associate and I may see you?"

The creature inside staggered forward in jerking motions, as if still processing the order, before spinning around on its heels and turning one hundred and eighty degrees in a stiff, robotic fashion. Excella took a startled step backwards at the sight of its face—its eyes glowed a deep, bloody red. A low growl resounded from inside the chamber as the creature pulled back its lips to bare its teeth, but it didn't make any more movements.

She placed a hand on her chest, and let out a relieved sigh. She should have known better, having been in the business for so long. B.O.W.'s were rarely a pretty sight to behold. On closer inspection, however, Excella noticed that other than its eyes and a slight grey tinge of its skin, the creature could have still passed for a living human being.

"Gave me a shock there," Excella breathed. She fanned herself nervously with one hand. "Though I must say, Albert, this is amazing. The board of directors will be elated to hear this news."

"That is, as long as you read those reports I send you."

"Of course. Can't have me walking in there without an inkling of what's going on." Excella ran her gaze over the blond. The bookish lab coat did nothing to hide that peculiar aura of power that always seemed to radiate off of him. In fact, the thin fabric seemed to emphasize his broad shoulders and toned muscles…_muscles that could rip through a man's ribcage_, Excella thought with a frown. But for a brief second, an idea had popped into the back of her mind. Wesker seemed to be in a good mood. There was a shadow of a genuine smile on his face and his posture was relaxed and easy.

Excella took a minute to gather up her wits, before sauntering up closer to Wesker and letting her hips fall into a natural sway. She knew that the pencil skirt she was wearing would only emphasize the movements, and perhaps even create some, rather, _interesting_ creases on the fabric. In addition, the white dress shirt she had on was one of the lowest cuts she owned, and she was glad she'd chosen to wear it today. Wesker's sunglasses shielded his eyes from Excella, but she was willing to bet that they weren't looking at the containment room window.

"How about we have a little discussion on those reports, Albert?" she said, idly picking at the edge of his lab coat. "I know you don't want me messing up your precious research during presentation."

Excella heard him chuckle slightly, but she didn't dare look up at his face. Despite the cool exterior she was putting on, her heart was beating like a jackhammer inside her chest. She had half expected him to slap her hand away the moment she had moved to touch him. But he did nothing, and she assumed that she was safe, for now.

She pressed up closer, running a hand down the side of his arm. She was near enough to tell he was wearing cologne, a very light, subtle aroma that reminded her vaguely of cedar wood.

"So, what do you say?" she asked.

Excella gave a short gasp when Wesker grabbed her, jerking her forward, so that she was facing him and staring directly into the dark, reflective lenses of his glasses. She could feel his fingers digging into her upper arms and a cold wave of sweat broke across her entire body.

The blond grinned, a dark, animalistic expression that seemed more of a snarl than a smile. Faster than her eyes could follow, he had one hand cradling the back of her head, the other on her shoulder. He leaned forward to meet her lips, before moving down and kissing the side of her neck. He drew a trail up to her ear and Excella inhaled sharply. She could feel goose bumps rising on the skin where his lips had touched, an electric trace that sent little shivers down her spine.

"Scared?" Wesker whispered into her ear.

"Just surprised." She still felt a tingle of coldness, of fear, but it was gradually melting away. Perhaps it was the heat radiating from his body that was putting her at ease; he was obviously running at a much higher temperature than any normal human. The warmth seemed to remind her that he _was_ there, right in front of her, holding her like any other, normal man might. Relaxing, she wrapped her arms around his neck, but squirmed slightly backwards so that she could take a good look at his face.

"You're not going to take those off?" she asked, nodding towards his sunglasses.

"Always so curious," Wesker said with a smirk. "Ever since day one…"

He leaned forward, attempting to kiss her again, but Excella dodged it by turning her head to one side.

"You didn't answer my question," she said. "They're in the way. Take them off."

"It'd only scare you."

She flashed him a level look. "Try me."

Wesker gave a low, rumbling chuckle, which caused the hairs on Excella's back to rise again. Of course, even if he didn't want to, there wasn't much that she could do about it. There was no way that she could forcefully remove himself from his embrace, given his inhuman strength.

"As you wish. You can even do the honors," he said.

"Why, thank you," she said sarcastically. Lifting up her hands, she took hold of the sides of his sunglasses. A little childish part of her cheered in triumph as she slid the shades off…

Excella's hear skipped a beat. She could feel her eyes widening and her eyebrows creeping up to her hairline. Seeing the surprise on her face, Wesker grinned that vicious smile once again, teeth bared in the process.

The look went well with the eyes.

They were a sharp, piercing yellow…perhaps even a little orange. It was hard for Excella to tell under the fluorescent lights of the lab. She could just barely discern faint flecks of red in the irises that seemed to flicker, and at times, even glow. The pupils were thin and elongated, like a feline's. Within seconds upon removal of the lenses, they had narrowed and constricted under the harsh light until all Excella could see were two, slender black lines.

"An unfortunate side effect of my mutation," Wesker remarked. He hadn't blinked once throughout her examination.

"Unfortunate? I think they're magnificent." There was a bubbling emotion inside of her, a vague mixture of awe, amazement, and curiosity. As a scientist, she had always been intrigued by the unusual, and this was an absolute gold mine. She knew better than to ask Wesker about the virus inside of him, however. He would probably bring a whole new meaning to the phrase "curiosity killed the cat."

"The public thinks otherwise," Wesker said. His hands were exploring her body as he talked, as if they had a mind of her own. "It's fortunate that I've always had a….an inclination, toward these spectacles."

Excella noticed something out of the corner of her eye, and she chuckled. "You know that it's been watching us?"

"Hm?"

"The subject. Mr. Meyers."

"Well if it worries you that much, you can—," Wesker started to say, but he stopped abruptly. He was staring off into space with the most peculiar expression Excella had ever seen on the blond. Something seemed to have "clicked" in his head. It was almost as if he had remembered something important, like a man walking out of his apartment and realizing he had forgotten to turn off the stove or left the water running.

"What's wrong, Albert?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. She did the best to keep the impatience and worry out of her voice, but she could feel it edging through. _And things had just been getting exciting…_

"Nothing," he muttered, though he didn't sound too sure of himself. That worried Excella. Wesker was always sure about everything. Something had to be wrong.

He closed his eyes and shook his head lightly from side to side. Excella felt an unusual shudder run through his body, and she stared up alarmingly at her partner.

"Is it the light? Your eyes must be more sensitive, well, with the change."

"It's just a headache." He broke away from their embrace. He had his back turned, but Excella could still see him reach up and place a hand to his forehead.

There was a clattering sound to her left, and she turned to see the subject in the containment room scuttle towards the back wall and huddle there. If she hadn't known better, it almost seemed like the creature was cowering. _But…there's nothing here, _Excella's thought, frowning. _And besides, B.O.W.'s don't feel fear. That can't be possible…_

Just as the scientific part of her mind was nearing some type of conclusion, Wesker suddenly groaned and staggered forward, reaching out to a desk for support. Excella lost her train of thought, and ran to his side, concerned.

"Are you alright?" she said, grabbing his shoulder. To her surprise, he batted her hand away, hard enough to leave a bruise. With the movement, Excella caught of a glimpse of his face. He was snarling, and the flecks of red in his eyes were now a blazing crimson. There was a nerve twitching on his forehead and his skin was shiny with perspiration.

"I'm fine," he hissed through gritted teeth. Excella tried her best not to snort in disbelief as she watched him stumble forward weakly, before collapsing into one of the office chairs.

"I'm getting the medical team."

Wesker made a low growling noise in the back of his throat. He was leaning forward over his knees, his head cradled in his hands. From the movement in his shoulders, Excella could tell that he was breathing hard, panting.

"I said I'm _fine._" His voice was shaky, but he still managed to spit the syllables out as if they were poisonous snakes.

There was a scraping sound from the containment room. A quick glance told Excella that the subject inside was scratching against the back wall in a helpless attempt to escape. The behavior puzzled her, but she didn't have time to dwell on it.

"I'm a scientist, just as you are," she said, cautiously approaching the seated blond. "I can help." She reached out a tentative hand, hoping Wesker wouldn't swipe it away again. One bruise was enough.

His reaction was worse than she expected. In a blink of an eye, his hand shot out, grabbed a vial on the table, and flung it in her general direction. The movement was so fast that all Excella noticed was a blur and a gust of wind, before the glass hit the door and shattered. Liquid splattered, dripping down between the metal grooves and onto the floor.

"Get. Out." Wesker hissed. His lips were pulled back into a ferocious snarl that was eerily similar to the one Mr. Meyers had sported earlier.

"I'm just trying to help—."

There was another surge of air, and the sound of something smashing into a million pieces behind her. Excella had the good mind to duck down behind a desk when she saw Wesker start to move again.

"I said, get out," he ordered, his voice shaking with emotion. A microscope went flying over Excella's head, and she yelped in surprise. With a sweep of his hand, Wesker overturned the desk in front of him, sending papers fluttering all over the room. One of his eyes was twitching uncontrollably, and his fingers were clenching and unclenching nervously into fists.

"I'm leaving! I'm leaving," Excella gasped, trying to inch her way back towards the door in one piece. She had never before been so glad to obey one of his orders. Pausing briefly, she took a few seconds to estimate the distance between her and the doorway, before bolting across the expanse with all the speed and desperation of a hunted deer. Once outside, she slammed the door shut behind her and locked it hastily.

Panting, she paused briefly to regain her composure. There were several other researchers huddled in the hallway, watching her in curiosity. _They must have heard the noise and come to investigate, _she told herself. The small group flinched visibly as a resounding clatter sounded from inside the room. Something large and unmistakably metal must have come in contact with the other side of the wall.

"What are you staring at?" Excella snapped at the scientists while she smoothed out the front of her skirt and tried to rearrange her tangled hair. Despite Wesker's protests, she had already decided on fetching the medical team, whom she hoped would be able to figure out what was going on. And besides, if they were unlucky enough to face the full onslaught of Albert Wesker's wrath…well, they were expendable, and _she_ was not.

"You there," she said, pointing to one of the researchers in the hallway. "Stay here. Make sure no one gets in and nothing gets out until I return, understand?"

The employee, a skinny, pale redhead, seemed to be on the brink of soiling his pants. Nonetheless, he nodded obediently, before positioning himself nervously in front of the laboratory door.

Once she was certain the door was secure, Excella turned away and jogged down the hall as fast as her four inch high, stiletto heels would allow her to. As she clicked along, she toyed with the idea of summoning the bio-containment team. (Intent on not repeating Umbrella's mistake, Tricell had implemented a top-notch training program that spat out soldiers strong enough to take down even a mutated Tyrant.) It anything went wrong here, they would most definitely have the guns and manpower to contain Wesker.

Excella skidded to a stop.

_What in the world are you saying, Excella Gionne?_ she thought to herself. _This is Albert Wesker you're talking about. The man who's promised to give you the world…the man whom you've just been kissing. And here you're treating him like a rabid dog that needs to be put down. _

The more reasonable side of her laughed ironically at this, which Excella did her best to ignore. _So he's inhuman. He's infected. But that doesn't mean he's B.O.W. #159; he is still someone I need…someone I care about. I can't have a bunch of soldiers charge through the complex hunting him down, and besides, I can't let Tricell find out that he's has been helping me all along. I'd be finished._

Satisfied that she had made the right decision, Excella started walking again. She felt calmer than before, as if the little argument she had with herself had reinforced her belief that there wasn't anything seriously wrong with Wesker. The satisfaction, however, still wasn't enough to keep her from finding the medical team.

She entered the infirmary room with flair, slamming the double door open with a dramatic sweep of her hands. She'd caught the medical staff in the middle of their break. They were sitting in various positions in the room, eating bagged lunches despite the medical equipment surrounding them—a blatant violation of the laboratory's protocol. Upon seeing her, they scrambled over one another in an attempt to hide the incriminating evidence before she noticed. Excella filed away a mental reminder to cut all the medical staffs' paychecks after this mess was over.

"Listen up. There's a medical emergency over in room 105. Dr. We-I mean, Dr. Wilson isn't looking too good. I need the lot of you over there. Now." She silently admonished herself for almost forgetting to use Wesker's pseudonym; now _that_ was a mistake that could lead to disastrous results.

One of the men, a dark haired employee in his thirties, shared a few hesitant glances with his colleagues.

"Um…Ms. Gionne. About that. Um, the thing is...this new head researcher, Dr. Wilson…," he stammered, staring intently at the tiles beneath Excella's heels.

"What about him? Spit it out."

"Well, m'am, we couldn't help noticing that um, this…Dr. Wilson. He's a bit…um…odd. We've seen some things…and uh, frankly, he doesn't really seem…normal, so uh…I'm...not so sure…" His voice faded away into a timid mumble.

"So let me get this straight. You're saying that _you_, a member of the medical staff, is refusing to treat one of _my_ employees because he rubs you the wrong way?" she replied, her voice clipped. The man blanched, but continued on bravely.

"The thing is, um…like I said, you have to understand. We've seen some things…um…that don't seem, uh…natural—"

"You're fired," Excella interrupted. "Get out. As to the rest of you," –Excella turned to face the group—"any other objections?"

They shook their head vigorously from side to side.

"Fabulous," she said with a chilly smile. "What are you waiting for, then? Get your stuff and follow me."

* * *

Excella stared intently at the laboratory door. She leaned in carefully and placed an ear to the metal, listening. It was completely silent.

"When did he start quieting down?" she whispered to the red-headed scientist guarding the door. The atmosphere with thick with tension, and the entire medical staff, stuffed shoulder to shoulder in the hallway, was silent.

"Um, not long after you left. Maybe, ten minutes ago?" the boy replied, his voice as low and soft as physically possible. He was obviously very relieved that Excella had returned, and was already edging steadily away from the group.

Excella bent down towards the door and listened once more. Again, silence.

Content, she nodded toward one of the medical staff.

"Go on," she said motioning toward the door. "Open the door."

The man's shocked face fluttered through several different expressions: horror, protest, and dismay, before settling on hopeless acceptance.

He crept toward the door, cautiously feeling the doorknob as if the protruding metal was scorching hot. He hesitated then, and cast a worried glance at Excella. She kicked him in the shin with one of her heels.

"What are you waiting for? Open it!" she said in a hushed whisper.

The man gulped nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself and opened the door.

The rest of the group stood frozen in their spots, stiff with anticipation.

Excella couldn't stand the tension. Forgetting the reason she had called the group in the first place, she shoved the man impatiently aside and peeked into the room.

Wesker was lounging on one of the office chairs, his eyes closed. Any hint of his earlier outburst was completely gone (or perhaps, hidden). His left arm was stretched out on the table in front of him, turned up, with the sleeve rolled up to the shoulder. Excella could spot a loosened tourniquet hanging from his upper arm, near the bicep. Scattered on the table was a hastily opened box of syringes, and several small vials, a few of which were empty.

"I thought I told you not to call the medical team," he drawled, glancing up at her through heavy-lidded eyes. He had on his trademark smirk, and his sunglasses were perched carelessly on the top of his head. "Overreacting, as always…"

The employee's hand was still glued to the doorknob and he was staring, slack-jawed, at "Dr. Wilson's" strangely colored irises. Excella could see his expression in her periphery vision. Swearing in Italian, she shoved him savagely out of the room, and slammed the door shut in his face. Once the deed was done, she marched her way over to Wesker and smacked her heel down on the floor, as hard as she could. The resounding clunk echoed throughout empty room.

"What is this?" she snapped. "Just ten minutes ago you were trying to brain me with a microscope, and now you're just…just…sitting there? I was worried, Albert. Here I was thinking you were going to mutate…"

"Mutate?" Wesker said, narrowing his eyes. For a brief second, his earlier outrage flashed up again; his mouth twitched angrily downward and his hand curled into a claw. But he seemed to notice the change himself, and with a shudder, shrugged it off.

"It was only a brief…shall we say…_hiccup_ in the virus."

"A hiccup? You almost killed me back there! How do I know this _hiccup_ isn't going to happen again?"

"It _won't _happen again," Wesker hissed, his tone signaling an end to the conversation. Strangely enough, however, Excella had a fleeting feeling that the words were directed at himself rather than her.

"And what's this?" Excella had wisely changed topics, but her annoyance was still as strong as ever. Reaching over the table, she snatched up one of the vials. "Sedatives?"

"They were the only things I had on hand."

Excella peered closer at the label on the glass, and her eyes grew large as she recognized the tiny letters printed on its side.

"Are you trying to kill yourself, Albert? These things are strong enough to take down an elephant."

"Well apparently, I must be stronger than an elephant. I had to use three times the recommended dosage," he replied coolly. He reached up and pulled his shades down over his eyes.

Excella continued to ogle at the blond, as if she was struggling to recognize his familiar, chiseled face and constantly unreadable expression. But then she let out an exasperated sigh, and slumped down on the chair opposite to him. She ran her slender fingers through her hair in agitation, destroying her already disheveled bun even further. Wesker remained silent as usual, though Excella was under the impression that he was staring at her from under the dark lenses.

The Tricell employee felt like her thoughts were on a broken record, looping over and over again. Once again the little voice in her head was screaming about how unreasonable it was for her to stick around with a man who had the potential to murder her without breaking a sweat. And if there were any doubts on that matter, well, today's events had crushed them.

He was unstable. He was violent. Again and again, those nagging thoughts. What was this, the hundredth time? She'd heard it all before; she'd always pushed the doubts to the back of her mind where they could be easily ignored. But now she'd experienced it firsthand.

She knew that he didn't have much of a choice in it, but that was exactly what made it so unbearable. There was something _inside_ of him, a ticking time bomb, totally unpredictable and completely deadly.

Something that he himself couldn't even control.

It all reminded her of a story that had once been circulating among Tricell's researchers, not long after the Raccoon City incident. Rumor had it that one of Umbrella's most prestigious scientists had injected himself with his own research, mutated, and brutally murdered his own wife. Granted, this type of accident wasn't all that rare in her line of work, but the incident had gained publicity because the researcher had supposedly been one of Umbrella's finest.

Excella shot a sidelong glance at Wesker. Could she fall into such a situation? Wesker was surely as ambitious and intelligent as the infamous Dr. William Birkin…

_Goodness,_ she found herself thinking. _You've been over this a million times. When are you going to make up your mind?_

Excella licked her lips reflexively. She found her mind wandering…thinking. Only an hour ago _he_ had been kissing those very lips. But she shoved those intrusive thoughts away before they developed into anything else. _I'm a mature woman,_ she thought to herself_. This is my __life__ that's at stake here—_

"A penny for your thoughts?" Wesker's smooth voice interrupted her internal monologue, and she straightened up in mild surprise.

"Let me guess," he said, not waiting for an answer. His voice was deadpan and devoid of emotion. "You are afraid of me. You think I'm dangerous and you're wondering whether you should get away, while you still can."

"What are you, a telepath?" she sneered. Inwardly, however, she was just barely containing her panic. She hadn't expected his 'guess' to be quite so accurate, much less as blunt as it was.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I'll say it now. I am _not _unstable. What happened today was an anomaly, and I am going to find a cure for it. I assure you."

Excella chuckled derisively, the strain evident in her laugh.

"Hear me out, Excella" he said, frowning at her reaction. "I understand your apprehension, and you're free to leave me, anytime you want. However_…_"

He moved forward, leaning off the edge of his seat, and stared directly at her.

"However," he continued. "At least finish what we started. Present the Las Plagas research to the board of directors. Get that facility for me. That's all I'm asking. After that, you can get as much distance between us as you want."

"That's not…," Excella started, hesitant. One side of her was prancing around in delight, thinking that Wesker's proposal sounded fantastic. Not only would she be safe and alive, she'd get to keep all the prestige and reputation that his work would give her. However, there was something else…some other emotion, which was spoiling her happiness. It was as if someone had come along and dumped a bucket of water on her little bonfire of triumph, and all that was left was a little sizzle and smoke.

But before she had a chance to collect her thoughts, Wesker stood up abruptly from his chair and placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder.

"You don't have to make any decisions now, Excella. Let's just get this job done, and we'll think about this whole thing afterwards, alright?" His voice was gentle, almost fatherly. But to Excella, it just felt painfully discordant with all that she had seen in him before.

She filed those thoughts away in the back of her mind (she'd been doing that pretty often around Wesker, hadn't she?) But now wasn't the time to ruminate over Wesker's odd quirks. Now was the time to stay on the Albert's good side until she had the time to sort through this whole fiasco.

Crossing her legs slowly, she chewed on her lip and pretended to brood over the blond's proposal. When she finished counting to ten, she looked up, and with flutter of her fake eyelashes, said confidently:

"I understand, Albert. I'll be sure to look over the reports in detail before next week."

Wesker stared back at her, his eyes boring a hole through her head.

"Wonderful," he said finally, though there was a slight edge of suspicion in his voice. He wasn't buying Excella's sudden servitude. "Well, if there isn't anything else…there's still a few bumps I have to smooth out with the modified Las Plagas."

He turned heel and headed toward the lab table. As if synchronized to him, Excella stood up as well and walked mechanically toward the exit. Although she didn't show it, she was feeling incredibly disappointed. The day just hadn't really turned out the way she had expected.

Just as her hand touched the doorknob, Wesker's voice rang out across the room.

"Just one more thing, Excella…"

She looked back over her shoulder, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You are a fantastic kisser."

Excella smiled provocatively, showing off the whites of her teeth.

"Thank you. I've had a lot of practice."

"That's what I thought."

She took that as her cue to leave and headed out the door.

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, I need to learn to cut up my chapters and update more often. It's hard for me, though, one I start I feel the need to finish. On a side note, I have no idea what to think of movie Wesker. I haven't seen it yet, but I feel obliged to go just to see how a live action (and perhaps bastardized) version of him works out.


	6. Chapter 6

EDITED 5/11/12: Some very minor changes.

EDITED 7/19/12: More minor changes.

* * *

**The Devil's Queen**

Chapter 6

Excella shifted nervously from side to side in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position on the lobby chair. The shiny leather squeaked beneath her as she crossed and uncrossed her legs impatiently. Her fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on the padded arm of the chair. Brown eyes flitted back and forth, barely registering the hustle and bustle of the other occupants in the room.

Normally, she would have been appalled by her rude and unfeminine behavior, but her mind was on other matters. Ten minutes ago she had been inside the conference room to her left. Ten minutes ago she had been standing in front of Tricell's board of directors, breaking out in a cold sweat, wringing her hands, and knocking her knees together like glossophobic in front of a theater audience. She could recall every moment of her dreaded presentation in enormous detail: the too-cold air conditioner that blew directly on the exposed back of her cocktail dress, the slight cough of the head director that seemed to indicate either boredom or disapproval. She could even remember the piercing buzz of the fluorescent lights that had seemed so grating in the deadly silent chamber. Faster than a heartbeat, it was all over, and she was being led out by a nice, young intern and directed into the uncomfortable leather lobby chair she was currently fidgeting on.

All that was left now was to wait for the verdict.

Excella stared dully at her reflection in the untouched glass of wine beside her. She _had _been slightly apprehensive about her wardrobe for the day, but that had all been forgotten during her nerve-wracking presentation. The fancy black and gold cocktail dress she picked out this morning hadn't seemed quite appropriate for a business meeting. She'd decided to go with it in the end, her reasoning being that the directors (all older men) might enjoy the refreshing sight of a young woman in a snappy outfit. Perhaps the allure might even persuade them to support her cause.

The slam of a closing door jerked her out of her reverie. She watched as a man strolled out of the conference room. He was in his early fifties, and despite the age, was tall and well built. His suit was professionally fitted and ironed to perfection. His hair, cut in a short, clean manner, had once been a dirty blond but was now speckled with a considerable amount of gray.

"Excella!" he greeted, flashing a splendid, politician-like smile.

"Marcus Kauffmann," she said with significantly less enthusiasm. No doubt the board had sent him out to deliver their decision. But why Kauffmann? Did they really think having a familiar face would make the process any more comfortable?

Despite being decades older than Excella, Marcus Kauffmann was still considered a very, handsome man. God had bestowed him with a sharp, chiseled face, a high nose, and brilliant, sea-blue eyes. The spotlessly groomed designer stubble only emphasized his strong jaw-line and flawless chin. His regal appearance drew many female employees to his side, some of whom would give almost anything to spend a night with the man. Seeing him now, she was suddenly struck with the idea that an older Wesker would have probably looked something like Marcus, if only he aged like a normal human.

"How you've grown, Ms. Gionne," he said playfully, his smile as plastic as ever. "You look very much like your grandmother did when she was young."

"You know I hate small talk, Kauffmann," she said. It came out sharper than she had intended.

Unlike the numerous women who flocked to the Tricell director, Excella wasn't fond of Marcus. And it was all because of story her grandmother used to tell her, a cautionary tale for her ambitious young granddaughter

Marcus Kaufmann had once been a man of unrivaled potential. Smart and cunning by nature, he followed his thirst for success with an avid determination. In no time he had scampered up the career ladder, and landed himself a high-paying job in Tricell's research sector. He was on the board of directors by his mid-thirties, the youngest ever in the company's history. And before anyone could even marvel his sudden rise of success, he made the headlines when the retiring CEO of Tricell Pharmaceutical chose him as the number one candidate to succeed his position.

It was absolutely perfect. Not only had he the most support out of the entire board, his research into a new virus that could potentially rival Umbrella's rumored, "B.O.W. creator" was enough to win anyone over.

Needless to say, things did not go as planned. After a heavy night of drinking to celebrate his success, he had unintentionally leaked a considerable amount of the company's secrets to an amiable man at the lounge, who unbeknownst to Marcus, was an Umbrella employee. The CEO position slipped from his fingers, never to return to his grasp again.

Excella hated Marcus Kauffmann because the man reminded her of failure. The "gentleman" before her had thrown away everything because of one simple weakness he had failed to hide. It disgusted her to no end.

"Now, now, Excella, there's no need to hurry—" he said, reaching out with one hand to pat her jokingly on the shoulder.

Excella took a step backwards so that his fingers swiped through empty air. "You're here to tell me the board's verdict, aren't you? Well, what is it?"

Marcus sighed lightheartedly, like a parent would to a petulant toddler.

Excella felt a sudden wave of cold run through her body. What if the answer was no? What if the board didn't like the proposal? The only way she and Wesker would have any chance to obtain the Kijuju facility was if the board picked up the Type 2 Las Plagas project.

"Such a serious look on your face," Kauffmann said with a chuckle. "So intense…as if the fate of the entire world depended on my words."

At the sight of Excella biting down on her lip in impatience, he broadened his smile. "You can rest easy, Ms. Gionne. The board is impressed. _So _impressed, they've decided to promote you to head of Tricell's African division."

There was a rush of blood to Excella's head and for a fleeting moment, she was afraid she'd pass out right there on the floor. Had she heard him right? Head of division?

"Unbelievable, right?" Marcus continued. "Normally, we wouldn't just give away such a high position, but you're impeccable timing landed you the spot."

"What do you mean?"

"This hasn't been made public yet, but the old head, Johnson—you know him right? A few weeks ago we discovered that he's been dealing with some of the rival companies for years now. Of course we're going to get rid of him, but we first needed a solid replacement. And look who just turned up on our doorstep with one _incredible _research proposal. I have to admit, Excella, we just couldn't turn you down."

"I don't believe it," she gasped, sitting shakily down onto the edge of the chair.

"You better believe it." He took a seat beside her. "It's not every day you go from a research manager to the head of division. You should be grateful."

And then something clicked in Excella's head. She'd succeeded. It had worked. Excella Gionne was now the head of the Africa division. For some reason, however, the only thing she could think of doing was going back to the laboratory and reporting the news to Albert The research facility was theirs. And his reaction…what would he say? Would he thank her?

"Excella?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow at her clouded, vacant gaze. She blinked twice, before remembering her well-trained manners. She was a Gionne after all; she had to be always presentable, no matter the occasion. She morphed her face into one of gratification.

"This is absolutely amazing, Marcus." She had on a perfectly crafted smile, without any hint of smugness or vanity. "I can't thank the board enough. It's a dream come true. Too think I'm head of a division now, with my own facility—"

"Ah. About that facility…."

Excella's heart constricted painfully in her chest.

Kauffmann had on a very peculiar expression. His Capitol Hill smile was gone, and in its place was a gentle, sympathetic look, one usually reserved for a conversation about a family death. It was a shallow expression of polite courtesy, without any substance behind it. And yet there was something beneath the surface, a strange gleam in his eyes that betrayed his true emotions. She had the sudden impression of a wolf, licking its lips at a helpless, trapped prey.

"The facility you expressed interest in. The Kijuju one. I'm afraid that it's already been taken."

"By whom?" Excella choked out.

At this, Marcus gave a long, forceful sigh, as if reluctant to answer her question. But Excella caught a slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"I hate to say this, Excella, but I've already taken ownership of the facility weeks ago. It's been approved by the board and the contracts have all already been signed. I'm sorry."

It was the second shock Excella had experienced in the hour, and she was beginning to fear that her heart wouldn't be able to keep up with so many intermittent jumps. Seeing her dumbfounded expression, Marcus leaned forward and placed a reassuring hand over hers.

"I know that facility must have meant a lot to you. But look on the bright side; at least you're still the head of the African division. With a position like that, you could get any other facility you could ever want…just not this one. It really isn't that special anyway. It may be large, but the location's not practical."

Excella raised a hand to her temple. Her head was swirling with thoughts that she was having a hard time sorting through. Sure, Marcus was right. She could settle for any other research center in Africa with all the power that came with her position. She already had all that she'd ever wanted; she could stand up, walk out of the building and be done with it all.

But yet, the one vivid image that kept sneaking into her thoughts like a slow spreading disease. Albert Wesker. She could remember every detail of his face after hearing about the ex-Umbrella facility back in Irving's office. He wanted it…no, he_ needed_ it. Since meeting the blond several months ago, she had never seen such a furious look of determination pass over his stony demeanor.

She sighed deeply and put her hand down, only to spy Marcus from the corner of her eye. He was studying her with an unsettling intensity that immediately set alarms off in her head. There was a look in his eyes that she'd seen so often in scheming businessmen, spinning plans behind their plastic smiles and courteous words.

"However…Excella," he said slowly, chewing the words. "If the facility means so much to you…perhaps I can make an exception."

"What do you mean?" She knew better than to jump on the bait; there was more to this than the man revealed.

"An exception. I give you the facility, in exchange for something I want." Again, that hint of a smile on his lips.

"And what would that be?"

"I don't know how to say this, really. I've been observing you for a long time…and you've really grown through the years Excella. From the little teenager following in her grandmother's footsteps to the ambitious young lady I see before me today—"

Excella shifted forward in her chair and stared deep into the Marcus' sea blue eyes. "I've told you before that I hate frivolity, Kauffmann. What are you willing to trade for the Kijuju facility?"

Marcus chuckled lightly, dropping all attempts to keep that intrusive smile off his face. "Well if you don't mind me being so bold, my dear, I'll say this. You have, what shall we call it? A bit of a _reputation_ around this company. A beautiful, charming lady like you…word gets around fast."

"A reputation," Excella repeated, her expression flat.

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only she would be able to hear. "To be honest, this facility means nothing to me. But I'm willing to trade it for one simple, personal favor. Come now, Excella. Be practical here. I'm sure someone with your personality is quite comfortable with certain methods of persuasions…so _persuade _me."

"What are you implying?" she said through clenched teeth, though she was pretty certain she knew the answer already.

Marcus voice dropped even lower, so that it was barely a whisper. "Tonight. I'm staying at the Grand Hotel down the street, you can ask for the room number at the desk. What do you say Excella? How badly do you want the Kijuju center?"

He shot her a crooked smile, before standing up and straightening out his suit.

"And there you have it," he said, loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. "It's your decision."

He held out both arms, palms upward, in a casual shrugging gesture, before turning heel and walking back into the conference room with the same confident stride that he'd entered with.

Excella waited for the fancy wooden doors to close shut behind the man, before standing up, grabbing the untouched glass of wine on the side table in front of her, and hurling it straight onto the marble floor. She found some pleasure in hearing it shatter and watching the liquid spill out in a wave of crimson onto the tiles.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Here she was, head of Tricell's fucking Africa division, and unable to get the one, sorry-looking research facility that she needed. _No_, she corrected herself. _We _need_._ And that damn Kauffmann, he knew the desperation in her eyes. It was all just leverage for him to get her to dance along to his tune.

"That bastard," she hissed, resisting the urge to kick over the expensive lobby chairs and wreak havoc on the carefully crafted flower arrangements.

She was angry at herself, in part. After all, Marcus was right. She _was_ used to these types of transactions, and normally, she would have felt absolutely no qualms for following through with his request. She could barely keep track of how many men she'd won over with seduction and hints of romance; it was practically a chapter in her strategy book now.

_God made you a woman for a reason_, her grandmother used to say. _Put it to good use._

But something was different this time. No longer did she find the idea so agreeable anymore, in fact, it seemed downright repulsive to her. Just the image of getting into bed with someone like Kauffmann sent a wave of nausea through her body.

It was different now. Back then, she'd done it for herself, for her own gain. She'd agreed to the act because it was only a way for her to get ahead in the game. Those obese, hairy men with their disgusting fantasies were just chess pieces for her to maneuver. It had meant nothing to her because there was no love in the act, only her own ambition and desire for power. But now...

Now there was only one person she wanted to be with, and despite his slight resemblance to Marcus Kauffmann, he was most definitely _not_ the miserable, wretched failure that old man was.

_The thing is, Excella_, _you're__ not the one who needs the Kijuju facility._ That reasonable, practical voice she had been so acquainted with recently was once again poking its head out of the hole in the back of her mind. _You've already got what you want: one of the highest positions in Tricell. Just bail and leave Albert behind. You don't need him anymore. Tell him the truth. You couldn't get it. There's nothing he can do about it. _

_This isn't just about business anymore, _Excella though to herself, glaring at her reflection on the black marble floor.

_Who are you kidding, Excella? _The voice countered, twice as loud and intrusive as before. _He said it himself. It's a partnership, remember? And yet like an obedient puppy you keep running back to him, hurrying to meet his every need. You're like some love-sick little girl with the way you obsess over that man. Is he like some deity to you? When did you become so dumb, Excella? _

"That's not true," Excella snapped at herself, earning some raised eyebrows from the other occupants of the lobby.

_Then what about this? You think you do things for yourself, but why work so hard for something that's not even for you? _

Excella stood up in anger and stalked out of the lobby, her black heels clicking all the way to the double door entrance. It was snowing lightly outside, and a group of pedestrians were huddled next to the office building's awning waiting for a taxi to come by. Excella felt goose bumps skitter across her exposed shoulders, and she hastily draped her white fur shawl around them. Her breath came out in puffs of white and she stood idly by the curb.

Perhaps it was due to the temperature, but she found her frustration simmering away and leaving behind tired thoughts in its wake. She had two choices now. Either go to Kauffmann and win the facility back, or call Wesker and tell him that it'd slipped from her grasp.

She knew what the smart and reasonable decision was, but her heart swayed differently. Her mind and body were full of contradictions that she just couldn't sort out.

It was getting dark. The cloudy sky was turning brilliant shades of magenta and maroon as the sun set behind the high-rise office buildings. There silhouettes reminded her of a fence posts sticking out of a white, snowy pincushion, bathed in a halo of light. The huddling groups had, one by one, found taxis, leaving the sidewalk lonely and empty.

Excella sighed. She'd have to leave soon, before her toes turned black in the cold. She hailed a passing cab, one delicate, smooth hand held out in her usual, haughty manner. It skidded to a stop, window rolling down to reveal a haggard driver with an unkempt beard and a baseball cap full of moth holes.

"Where ya heading, miss?"

* * *

The Grand Hotel lived up to its name. It was a glorious sight to behold, with white stone archways decorated with enough gold to leave King Midas scowling. The hotel was the most luxurious one in town, reserved solely for ambassadors and businessmen of the highest tier.

Excella fit perfectly in her opulent surroundings, dressed in a lavish, tight-fitting black dress, cut so low that it left very little to the imagination. It was decorated with a silver chain belt that went along nicely with her silver pumps. Excella was particularly proud of this outfit, and judging by the number of men rubbernecking, she had a reason to feel that way about it.

However, she wasn't in the mood to smile seductively at the gawkers, as she usually would have. Today, she was sporting a stiff, clenched frown, and any man she caught ogling received a glare hard enough to cut steel. She stood in the middle of the lobby, one hand on her hip, taking in her surroundings with the cold, mechanical air of a construction worker surveying a work site. Targeting in on the reception desk, she stalked over, face flat and emotionless.

"I'm looking for a Marcus Kauffmann," she stated, without preamble.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Kauffmann was expecting a visitor," the man said, reaching beneath the desk to pull out a slip of paper. A room number was written in neat black letters on the note.

Excella hesitated for a second, suddenly apprehensive. Marcus had been so confident of her arrival that he'd already alerted the front desk. What was she doing, playing along with his little game?

_No matter now_, she thought to herself, taking the paper from the receptionist, a tight, forced smile on her lips. _Focus on your goal, Excella. Everything else is irrelevant._

To the elevators she went, stiffly, like a puppet on strings. Inside, she fixed her bun in the gold tinted mirrors of the walls while the elevator rose steadily, the display flashing at every floor. With a cheerful ding, the doors parted and she was out in the hallway, her heels sinking it to the thick, plush carpeting. Down the hall, her eyes scanned over the door numbers mechanically, until she reached the one that matched the slip in her hand. A knock.

She crossed her arms, waiting.

Marcus opened the door, wearing nothing but a red bathrobe. _How dare he_, Excella thought to herself, her anger bubbling to the center of her attention. She pushed the thought away, and instead, cocked her hips seductively to one side, and tried to put on a natural, amused look. She'd done this before. All she had to do was let go and let her body run on auto-pilot. He had on his usual smile: clean, cold, and as white as a refrigerator wall. His eyes glittered as they scanned her, from the silver pumps to her delicately arranged hair.

"How nice of you to join me, Excella," he said, his voice as smooth as a snake. "You're looking lovely today."

"Just because I agreed to this doesn't mean you get to small-talk me to death," she answered with a haughty smirk. She tilted her head just barely to one side, and straightened her back so that her assets were proudly displayed before her. They were practiced movements; little things she knew could drive men mad.

Sure enough, Marcus attention was abruptly diverted away from her hair and face and focused on other parts of her shapely figure.

Excella briefly wondered if he could sense how much she wanted to take a crowbar to his head. To see his brains splattered against the dainty hotel wallpaper and hear him scream while his pulsing blood stained the carpet…

…it was something that Wesker could do without even trying. He could rip that scheming failure limb from limb in a blink of an eye.

Marcus must have been misinterpreting her sudden grin, for his robe had shifted a bit around the legs. He motioned for Excella to enter, and she sauntered into the room, hoping the murderous fantasies playing over in her head were enough to get her through the night.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait, haven't been writing recently. I was a bit apprehensive about this chapter, and was tempted to scrap the whole thing and send the story in another direction. In any case, I did manage to finish this and I suppose for now I'll upload it and see how I feel about it on a later date.

Also, I went back and changed a bit of chapter 4 to fit this chapter, but I'm sure it's hardly noticeable. On second thought, it was probably a bad decision on my part to name one of the characters Marcus, considering there's already another Marcus in the REverse.

(BTW, finally saw RE: Afterlife. Movie Wesker was a huge disappointment, and I will now spend the rest of my life forgetting he ever existed.)


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: After a year or so of being inactive, I have once again risen from the grave to start writing again. I doubt anyone who was following this story a year ago still cares, but I've edited all the earlier chapters, so it might flow a little better if you went back and reread stuff.

Also I do realize that I mixed up the order of some official backstory stuff, so forgive me. I like it a little better my way, for reasons that will be made clear in the future…hopefully.

* * *

**The Devil's Queen**

Chapter 7

It was still dark when Excella got out of the hotel. The late night crowds were gone and the streets were mostly empty, save for a few early-morning commuters driving slowly by. A thick fog had settled over the shallow blanket of snow, and the streetlights shone through the dense clouds in fuzzy, yellow halos. A homeless man was pushing a rusty shopping car across the intersection, his silhouetted figure melting in and out of the murky air.

It was bone chillingly cold, but Excella was too tired to care. She hadn't even bothered to drape her jacket around her exposed shoulders. Some remote part of her brain reminded her that it didn't matter anyhow, since she'd forgotten it on the back of a chair in Marcus' hotel room. The very thought of the location sent a revolting shudder through her body. She couldn't think about it, not now, not that it was done and over with. It didn't matter that she felt so disgusted she could puke. Disgusted at herself for being so easily manipulated, disgusted at Marcus for using her like some disposable whore. But she couldn't dwell on it any longer. He'd had signed the papers handing the Kijuju facility over to her, and that was all that mattered now.

The only thing left to do was to tell Albert what she'd accomplished for the two of them. Excella Gionne, head of Tricell's Africa division, proud owner of Tricell's biggest African research facility. She supposed she should have been more excited about the prospect, but her heart felt numb. _It was that idiot Marcus_, she reasoned with herself, fists clenched in rage. _That damn Kaufmann ruined what should have been the happiest day of my life._

_You didn't need to do it,_ the little voice in her mind retorted. _It wasn't Marcus that ruined it, it was him. You did it for __him__. You sacrificed yourself for a man who doesn't care about you at all. _

_You don't know that._

_The facility's the only thing he cares about. _

_That isn't true._

_He's using you._

"You're wrong," Excella spat into the empty air. She could feel the start of a migraine coming up, and she massaged her forehead with the base of her palm. Sometimes she wondered if the number of arguments she managed to have with herself pointed to some sort of developing, split personality.

But in the end, her mind kept going back to that singular night. He had been a tiger then, sleek and deadly as he ripped through Stanton's men like they were flimsy sheets of wet paper. Then there was Moretti, that haughty, chauvinist pig who had never failed to insult her at every opportunity…cowering and quivering at his feet. He embodied everything she strove for: the ambition, the confidence, the endless power. Her colleagues might flock to Marcus Kaufmann—she found herself gritting her teeth at the mere thought of his name—with his money and sly words, but in the end that damn fool was only a shadow compared to Wesker.

_But he's dangerous. He's unstable. You know what he's capable of. _

She breathed deeply, the cold, night air filling her lungs. There was no use arguing anymore, what was done was done. She needed to focus on the present now. She needed to tell Albert that his plan….no, _their _plan, had been a success, other than the roadblock Marcus had proven to be. One elegant hand reached into her leather purse and retrieved a sleek white cellphone, the edges decorated with luxurious silver studs. She flicked it open, the artificial, blue light glowing off her flawless skin.

A text message. It must have arrived while she was in Marcus's room. She read it.

_Important. Meet me ASAP. 13 Stoker St. 2__nd__ floor, 3__rd__ door to the right. –Albert_

A dozen thoughts ran through Excella's head at once. Had Wesker somehow known what had happened tonight? Or did something happen at her research facility? Was he in danger? Since they'd met over half a year ago, Wesker had never asked _her_ to come find him. It had always been the other way around. Something had to have happened for him to send a message like this.

She ran over to the curb, her heels wobbling unsteadily over the uneven concrete pavement. There had to be a cab somewhere, even at this early hour. Straining her eyes, she peered into the fog to see if she could catch that familiar flash of taxi cab yellow. Her anxiousness rose as the seconds ticked by, but she didn't bother to call him back. If Albert wanted to meet her in person, it wasn't something that could be resolved, or even talked about over the phone.

It took a few minutes before a dingy, lemon yellow cab spotted Excella's urgent waving and pulled up to the hotel entrance curb. She said a silent prayer of thanks to whoever may have been listening above, before sliding into the musty, cheap leather seat.

"Thirteen Stoker Street," she told the driver. "On the double, I'm in a hurry."

* * *

13 Stoker Street turned out to be a fairly ordinary looking apartment complex only a few blocks away from the hotel. Small, thin and a mere three floors high, it was wedged between a red brick sandwich shop and a real estate office. Its walls were painted a drab gray, the windows square and uniform. The complex seemed to melt away into the background of the urban environment, overshadowed by its neighbors and largely unnoticed by the bustling city dwellers.

Excella paid the driver before entering the unlocked entrance way. She glanced briefly at the cheap, forlorn lobby, as drab and dull as the building's exterior, before making a beeline for the metal stairs near the back. Up she went, her heels clanking a staccato rhythm on the steel steps.

Fluorescent lights lined the white ceiling, revealing an empty, quiet hall that stretched a few doors down before stopping in a dead end. Excella headed straight for the door Wesker had detailed in his message, her hand moving automatically for the smooth metal knob. A quick turn and the door swung open; it had been unlocked.

Now this was suspicious. She didn't think Albert was careless enough to forget to lock his door, if this was indeed the place he called home. Although she had no doubt that he could have dealt with any intruder that dared enter the residence, it seemed uncharacteristic of the secretive blond to overlook such a small detail. Excella reached for the small revolver she kept in her purse and clenched it tightly in her palm before she took a step inside.

The room was lit by a small table lamp sitting on the ground. From the meager light it provided, Excella could see that, other than a small table with a pewter chalice on it and a foldable chair, the room was devoid of any other furniture. The kitchen hugged the wall directly next to the entranceway. Like the sparse room, it seemed largely unused, the plain tiles and old stove clean of food. There was no kitchenware or any utensils to be seen. The carpet was threadbare and dark blue, with occasional discolored patches from previous tenants. Fading, striped wallpaper lined the walls, the corners peeling ever so slightly from age.

What caught her eye, however, was an unassuming, black suitcase open in the center of the chamber. A few articles of clothing were thrown inside, unfolded and obviously placed there in a hurry…which confused her even more. Everything else in the Spartan room seemed very much like Albert Wesker, but she would have expected the calculating, scheming researcher she knew to be one to fold his clothes in neat, rigid piles. Something wasn't right.

As if on cue, Wesker entered the room from an open archway to her left, a manila folder filled with papers under one arm. Excella jumped at his sudden presence but relaxed her grip on the small firearm when she recognized the blond. He was wearing a pair of dark slacks and a thin black sweater rolled up to the elbows. What surprised Excella the most, however, was the fact that his usual shades were missing, and his mutated yellow eyes shone like vivid jewels under the low light of the lamp.

Wesker didn't spare her a single glance. He walked over to the open luggage, his movements rigid and missing the smooth prowling nature she had so often associated with the man. He flung the folder inside, the papers shooting out like petals on an elaborate white flower. Ignoring the mess, he headed stiffly back toward the room he had come from. When he passed the pewter chalice, he snatched it up and chucked it into the suitcase as well.

"Albert…" Excella started, bewildered.

He jerked to a stop and turned, as if noticing Excella for the first time. To her disappointment, his face was mostly unreadable, except for a slight crease between the eyebrows and a shade of a frown on his lips. "Ah, Excella. You're here."

Excella waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more and continued on back through the archway. She hovered behind him, a mix of confusion, anger, annoyance, all jumbling through her head.

"You sent me a message—"

"Yes," he interrupted. His voice was curt, sharp and business-like. "In hindsight, it was probably unnecessary." The room they had entered was, like the living room, mostly empty. There was a bed in the back corner covered with a neatly folded, white sheet. Wesker headed straight for a wooden dresser on the opposite wall, and begun gathering the contents of the top drawer into one arm. There were several black, spiral-bound notebooks and a small metal case with a combination lock on its side.

"Aren't you going to ask me about the presentation?"

"It went as expected, I assume."

A flash of memory passed Excella's mind. Rough hands running across her thigh, Marcus's whiskey heavy breath on her face. She clenched her teeth and shoved the image away. "I've become head of the Africa division. They gave me the Kijuju facility."

"As I planned."

The words stung like lashes from a whip, and her heart seemed to drop down into her stomach. _What were you expecting? _she thought to herself. _That he'd thank you? That he'd come running to you declaring how much he appreciated you? He doesn't even know about Marcus yet. Don't be a fool._

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to regain her composure. It didn't matter, she repeated to herself again. She didn't need his thanks, as long as their plans were running smoothly.

"What's going on here? Why did you ask me to come?"

"I'm leaving. Something's come up."

"What?" she said, stunned.

"New info. Irving knew. Knew about _him_…I have to go. I have to go deal with some business…business from the past. You wouldn't understand." Wesker's words were suddenly strained, almost contorted. He had finished clearing out the drawer and was heading back to the luggage. He brushed by Excella without a glance.

"Business? Irving? What are you saying? What about the new facility?" Excella was alarmed. Wesker seemed to become almost flustered with the new topic, and the change was so drastic from his usual level-headed coolness that she briefly wondered if his virus was acting up again. But he didn't seem violent or unstable like he had been during that incident. Just agitated. Anxious.

"This info…If I don't act now I'll lose him. The facility's not important right now."

"Not important?" She could feel a slow, simmering heat rising through her face, her earlier concern for the man evaporating as the words began to sink in.

"I can't let him slip through my fingers again. Compared to this…Kijuju's not a priority at the moment. It can wait."

A snap of anger ran through Excella, and she gritted her teeth. _It can wait,_ he had said. Marcus' snide laugh rung in her ears, his plastic smile dancing in front of her eyes.

"You're rambling. I don't understand."

"Irving had info on his location. A man I knew a long time ago." He dropped the notebook sand metal case into the luggage, before returning to the bedroom. "He has answers. I need them. I'll deal with everything else when I get back."

"So you're leaving," she said, her voice dark. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins, the anger boiling up like a kettle over a flame. She was suddenly aware of the revolver in her palm, the metal digging little grooves into the flesh of her hands.

"I'll be back in a few months, depending on how reliable Irving's info is." Another drawer, another stack of neat, black notebooks.

She could smell Marcus now, his overpowering cologne reeking from the sheets, his glittering white teeth flashing in the dim lights of the hotel. She had been right all along. Wesker didn't care about her. He didn't even care about the damn facility anymore. It was all for nothing. She was just another tool he could discard at his convenience, something he could put on the back burner when other, more "important" things came up. She should have known.

"Well then, if that's the case, don't expect me to be waiting for you when you return," she snapped. Turning, she stalked determinedly back toward the apartment entrance. Her head was pounding, her growing rage twisting and writhing in her belly. She wasn't even sure who she was angry at anymore: Marcus, Albert, Tricell, herself…she needed to get away. She had to have time to clear her head—

There was a gush of wind, a flash of black, and she found herself stumbling into Wesker's chest. The dark wool of his sweater loomed in her vision.

"Excella."

She tried to sidestep him.

"Excella, stop this. You're being childish."

"Childish?" she hissed, her anger exploding in a sudden wave of frustration. "Childish? Who's being childish here? After…_after all I did_…and now I come and find that you're leaving_? _What about the facility? What about your stupid little project?_ '_It can _wait_?' Go to hell!"

Her voice echoed strangely through the empty apartment. It was quiet enough that Excella could hear her own quickened breaths, even the floorboards creaking delicately beneath her quivering feet. A dog could be heard barking in the distance.

"'After all you did?'" Wesker said, repeating her words. His earlier agitation was suddenly gone, and his face had somehow managed to be even more unreadable than usual.

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore," she snarled. She had been ready for a fight, but Wesker's blank expression was making it hard for her to gather up any emotion. It was like arguing with a statue. Excella tried again to sidestep him, but she was stopped by a steely grip on her shoulder.

Wesker turned his head to one side, quizzically, before abruptly leaning in and sniffing the air in front of her. Exella gasped, shrinking away in surprise and disgust.

"What are you—"

"That smell." His face remained blank, impenetrable.

"What?"

"It took more than the presentation for you to get the position," he said plainly, as if reading instructions off a placard.

"It was for the Kijuju facility." The words were out of her mouth before she even realized it. She tried to push him away from her, but it was about as useful as trying to move a brick wall with her bare hands.

"Who was it?"

"Why does it matter to you?" she snapped back.

"I'll kill him for you."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Look at me, Excella." He took hold of her chin, forcing their eyes to lock.

"Let me go—"

"I'll kill him."

There had been no emotion, no hesitation in his words. Excella could do nothing but stare into his strange, hypnotic eyes, her futile struggles slowing to a halt. The blazing yellow and red irises pierced into her, boring through her skull and digging into the crevices of her mind. They were ancient eyes, primal, incisive. He no longer seemed agitated; in fact, she suddenly had a hard time believing that the man in front of her could _ever _be flustered, as motionless and steady as he was now. The remnants of her fury seemed to sizzle away under his glacial stare and she suddenly felt very, very tired.

"As much as I'd like him dead," she said finally. "Now would be inconvenient. Marcus Kaufmann's death would arouse Tricell's suspicion. Besides, he knows the Kijuju facility like the back of his hand, and he's already made arrangements to show me down there next week. We've already booked the plane tickets."

His face morphed then, like a car switching gears. It seemed to soften, the ice melting away into a facade of sincerity and warmth. The grip on her shoulder became gentle, calloused fingers trailing across the pale skin. His eyes, however, kept their intense, unblinking gaze.

"Excella, I apologize." Again, that soft voice, like a snake slithering across polished glass tiles. "I should have noticed earlier."

"It doesn't matter anymore," she replied bitterly. "You said it yourself, you're leaving."

"No." He took a step forward, his movements graceful and purposeful, a hunter after its prey. Excella suddenly found her back pressed flat against the wall of the apartment. "I was wrong. That man…Spencer"—there was a slight hint of hesitation before he finished the sentence–"can wait."

"I'd hate to divert you from something _so_ important," she said with as much acidic sarcasm as she could muster. But there was a tremble in her words, and she could hear her heart pounding in the deafening silence of the room as the gap between them closed. There was nowhere for her to retreat back to anymore, the wall behind her and him in front.

"No, Excella. You're the only thing that's important to me right now. I'm sorry for what I said earlier, I should have been more careful. I'm going with you to see the facility next week," His voice was fine silk, his body mere millimeters away from her.

"And what about this man you've been looking for?"

"The man is old. He's not going anywhere. He can wait." Smooth and placid, like sweet honey dripping in her ear.

"You're certain?"

"We go to Africa…together."

"Marcus will be there."

He was pressed up against her, his hands traveling across the curves of her body. Marcus had done the same several hours ago, but Wesker was beyond comparison. His movements were fluid, sleek; a primitive, perfect grace that seemed beyond time itself. He pushed her against the wall, his lips brushing hers, the blazing heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of their clothes.

"All the more perfect," he replied, baring his teeth in that same savage manner she had seen so many times before.

"I'm still angry at you," she said, even while his hands were twisting across the small of her back, crushing her toward him. She felt her body melt into his, despite her efforts to resist—both physically and mentally.

He laughed at this, the chuckles dark and sinister. His hands had somehow found the zipper to her dress, and she could feel the fabric sliding down over her shoulders. He moved in to kiss her, violent, raw. She found herself returning it, embracing him. Her earlier anger seemed to be fueling her forward.

By the time they broke off, her hands were already on his belt, unfastening it with swift, practiced movements. She could feel his hot breath on the nape of her neck, his lips tickling her earlobe.

"I'm sorry for what happened today," he whispered. "But what you did…thank you."

_Thank you._

She let out a bark of laughter, a mad, derisive laugh that rang like a bell through the silent air, even as the passion consumed her. She laughed because despite it all, despite knowing there was nothing to the words but emptiness behind a crafted façade of human emotion…

She still believed him.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Thanks so much for all the reviews guys, double thanks to my regular reviewers. You guys are awesome.

* * *

**The Devil's Queen**

Chapter 8

The jeep rolled to a stop, billows of scorched red dust wafting up from beneath the wheels and into the open back of the vehicle. Excella gave a sniff of disgust and fanned the air with one hand to keep the dirt from settling on her clothes. The salmon colored designer dress alone had cost her a fortune, and she couldn't bear to see it marred with soil.

_Why did you choose Africa, Albert? Why this wasteland, of all places?_

"Would you like me to help you with your bags, ma'am?" The driver's dark skin shone with sweat under the unyielding rays of the African sun.

"Just put them on the ground."

Excella lifted her oversized, Gucci sunglasses onto the top of her head and surveyed her surroundings. The car had parked in front of a large concrete building, its corners weathered and crumbling from age. There were no identifying marks on the complex, and the cracked, stained walls held only a handful of narrow windows under its flat metal roof. A chain link fence, topped with coils of barb wire, surrounded the unattractive structure.

Hearing the slam of a car door, Excella looked over her shoulder to see Wesker coming around from the other side of the vehicle. She smiled inwardly at the sight of his clothes. Before leaving, she had insisted that he trade his trademark dark outfit for something a little more inconspicuous; they couldn't risk having him recognized by anyone from Tricell. In response, he'd chosen to wear a light blue, short-sleeved dress shirt over a pair of dark grey jeans. For once, his black sunglasses were appropriate eyewear for the weather.

The great Albert Wesker, now a normal, average civilian. It was uncanny.

However, Excella's good humor was short lived, as the sight of an approaching figure from the corner of her eye changed her smile to a scowl. Marcus Kauffman was walking up to them on the crude, dirt path that led back to the building. His outfit, unlike Wesker's, was everything _but_ plain: the unbearably pink polo and glaringly white pants had come right off the cover of the Prada men's summer catalog.

The Tricell official had arrived a few days earlier to prepare the facility for its new owner. He approached them with arms spread out in welcome, his stiff smile stretching from ear to ear. It was all teeth and no warmth.

The very sight of him sent a revolting shudder through Excella's body. She pulled her sunglasses back down, in hopes that they would hide the murderous glint in her eyes.

"Welcome, welcome," Marcus said. He leaned in to kiss Excella's cheek as a greeting, but changed it to a polite nod when she took a step back. "Your flight was comfortable, I hope?"

"It was satisfactory," Excella said, forcing herself to give him a thin smile. She reminded herself that, despite her contempt for the man, Marcus remained an influential board member of Tricell. They couldn't afford to provoke him at such a critical time.

"And this gentleman is…?" Marcus turned his head toward Albert, who stood with his arms crossed by the jeep.

"Mr. Wilson, my future head of security." She had come prepared, and the words slid easily from her tongue. "I thought that it'd be best for him to come down and examine the place with me."

"That's a wise decision. Having good security is quite essential here in the heart of Africa. The indigenous population can be quite hostile, even invasive at times." Marcus smiled at Wesker, his unnaturally white teeth flashing in the sun. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wilson."

The blond stared at Marcus' extended hand for a brief second, before grabbing it and giving it two, quick shakes.

…_and Albert's poker face finally comes in handy, _Excella thought to herself. Nonetheless, she could still feel the tension in the air, and she suspected Marcus could feel it as well. They would have to tread carefully.

"Allow me to introduce you to a friend of mine," Marcus said. "You might find her advice on security matters helpful."

He scanned over the soldiers milling about the enclosed complex, before waving over a short, stocky woman. Despite the heat, the newcomer was wearing a combat vest over a black t-shirt, camouflage cargo pants, and a pair of thick army boots. Her dark hair had been slicked back in a neat and efficient bun that went well with her tanned, olive skin. An assault rifle dangled in her hands.

"Sir." Even while she acknowledged Marcus with a swift nod, her brown eyes were already scanning over Excella and Wesker. Her glances were quick and professional as she sized them up.

"This is Lana. Her team helped me clear out the facility when we first arrived. You'd be surprised how many natives they found camped out in the old place."

"It's really not too surprising, given that this facility has been abandoned for decades," Lana said. Her voice was thick and gravelly. _Like a boy in puberty,_ Excella's grandmother would have described it. Excella could almost see the disapproving frown on the old woman's face. _Unfeminine._ "I won't lie to you. There's gonna be a lot to deal with. You've got these crumbling African ruins right next door, and as a result, several back door entrances into the labs. That's how some of the natives we found got in."

"That doesn't sound so too terrible," Excella said. "We can work on blocking them off or just keep an eye—"

"It doesn't sound bad to you because I haven't gotten to the worst part yet," Lana interrupted. "The structure. It's absolute crap. The whole place looks like it's about to fall apart as soon as someone sneezes. You'll need to do a lot of renovating if you want to avoid being crushed by fifty tons of earth from above."

Excella frowned and crossed her arms. She didn't like the way the woman spoke to her. It was too brash, too bold, especially coming from someone so _below_ her. She doubted the mercenary even had a proper education.

"Now, now, Lana," Marcus chided, sensing Excella's annoyance. "We don't want to scare the new owner away. Besides, they didn't come all the way down here to listen to us talk. Why don't we go have a look around?"

Excella traded a quick glance with Wesker before nodding to the proposal. She eyed the small pile of luggage next to the parked jeep. "And our bags?"

"Don't worry about them," Marcus said. "I'll have my people bring them into the guest quarters."

* * *

They followed Marcus and Lana into the concrete building and past a heavily guarded passageway. As they entered the spacious mine shaft elevator at the end of the corridor, Excella felt a rising sense of anxiety creeping its way up her spine. It was darker inside the building and the topic of Wesker's conspicuous sunglasses was bound to come up. Despite his agreement in changing his peculiar taste in clothing color, he had insisted that the shades remain on. Not that she hadn't tried to persuade him to do otherwise.

"I know they impair your vision, but the contacts are the best way to get around this," she had argued in the hotel room the night before. "I know you've worn them in public before. Why not this time?"

"Because we're going to be underground," he had said, a bit dryly. "The darker it is, the more I'd prefer to have my eyesight intact. The contacts are out of the question."

"But do you know how much trouble we'd be in if Marcus gets a glimpse of your mutation? Be reasonable, Albert. Put them on."

"Not this time. I'll handle it my own way." There had been a finality in his words that indicated that it was the end of their conversation.

Excella could do nothing but shrug her shoulders and trust that her taciturn companion had a trick up his sleeve. She had begun to learn how immune he was to any sort of threat or persuasion when he'd set his mind on something.

The elevator interior was dimly lit, the gloomy lights barely illuminating its occupants. Excella swallowed nervously.

"It's quite dark down in the facility," Marcus said at last, his voice polite over the gentle hum of the elevator. "Your sunglasses, Mr. Wilson…um…do you…?" He trailed off helplessly, his usual flair for speaking lost as he tried to approach the strange topic without insulting the guest.

"I know it must seem odd, but I'd prefer to keep them on," Wesker said, saving Marcus from his embarrassed floundering. The blond seemed relaxed—almost bored, as if he'd recited the same explanation a thousand times before. "I took a nasty blow in the face during an old job. It permanently dilated one of my pupils. The eyes don't play well with light nowadays, so the shades help keep the headaches away."

"Are you sure about that?" Marcus looked apologetic. "I assure you, it's verydark."

"It won't make a difference. I'm half blind already."

Marcus chuckled, and gave a resigned shrug. "If you insist."

Excella let out the breath she had been holding, though she remained surprised at Marcus' casual acceptance of the excuse. _But then again, why should I be?_ she thought to herself after a beat. Wesker was an experienced liar. He'd operated as an undercover mole for half his life, and had managed to keep his eyes hidden from public since his transformation. There was a certain confidence to his posture, a boldness to his speech, that almost seemed to bully people into believing his words.

She knew the feeling firsthand.

* * *

They reached the bottom of the shaft and began their tour of the underground facility. Marcus took the lead, chattering on about the various sections of the abandoned research center. To Excella's disappointment, he didn't delve much into history behind the facility, other than stating that it had been owned by Umbrella in the sixties. She had been hoping to get a hint to why Wesker had been so adamant about _this _particular location.

The appearance of the research center itself did nothing to clear up the matter. It was unimpressive, to say the least, each hallway crammed with a number of dark and dusty laboratories. The lights were weak, ancient bulbs, many broken and flickering. They bathed each room in a sickly yellow light that reminded Excella of the senior centers she had been forced to visit for Tricell's corporate image campaign.

Outdated research equipment loomed in the shadows, their analog panels and dials cracked and crumbling. When they passed a room filled with gigantic specimen tubes, Excella stared, dismayed, at the opaque glass that once held Umbrella's prototype B.O.W.'s . Tricell had long since stopped using such obsolete and pitifully insecure chambers.

_What does Wesker want with this relic? _She grumbled to herself, as they walked past yet another row of identical offices, still equipped with rusty rotary phones.

If there was one thing the old facility held in its favor, it was its size. It wasn't long before Excella began to regret wearing her three-inch heels. Her feet ached and the stilettos sank into the thick layer of dirt covering the floor, forcing the whole group to stop and wait for her to wriggle them out in embarrassment whenever they got caught in the drying, cracked soil.

* * *

When the group finally made its way through the last claustrophobic hallway and entered a large, high-ceiling room, Excella was so exhausted she could barely stand. All she could think about was the hot bath and clean bed that would be waiting for them back at the guest rooms. _Perhaps Albert will even be in the mood for a little something more as well_, she thought to herself, her mood lifting. She found herself briefly wondering how sound proof the walls would be.

But her pleasant thoughts were cut off by a loud, resounding clank as Lana closed the metal door behind them. Excella let out a reluctant sigh. Of course, they still had to finish this nightmare of a tour.

The room they had entered was about the size of a tennis court. Old excavation lights hung from the corners, their rusted wires snaking along the beige walls. There was a balcony level above them with an eroded railing formed from ancient stone. She raised an eyebrow when she spotted the elaborate carvings in the thick, twisting columns and the bas relief chiseled into the two archways on either side of the chamber. They were pieces missing and sections that had disintegrated, but she could still make illustrations of primitive men battling strange, grotesque monsters.

Marcus smiled at her incredulous look. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Excella couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"This is one of many locations where the ruins are connected to the research center," Lana explained, her voice echoing from the stone walls. She'd been behind the group when they had entered the room, and now came up to the front after having closed the door back to the facility. "If you think this one's a sight, you should see the others. There's one the soldiers have nicknamed the Monarch Room, and I assure you, it lives up to its name."

"This is already quite impressive," Excella said impatiently. _Yes, yes, very impressive. Whatever gets us out of this dirty hole and back into real civilization._

She watched as Lana marched over to join Marcus in the center of the chamber. The latter stood with his arms crossed, his stance wide and firm.

It suddenly seemed to Excella that there was more smugness in his smile than usual, and she found herself instinctively tensing up. Her exhaustion was forgotten as nervous goose bumps prickled along the back of her neck. Something was wrong.

There was movement behind her and Wesker was there, one wary hand on her shoulder.

"Excella…" His voice was a low, growling rumble.

Marcus's wolfish grin widened, his white teeth glistening.

There was a pattering sound from up above, heavy boots clambering across stone. A the sound, Excella went for her purse, her fingers curling around the metal edges of her trusty compact revolver…but she froze when she heard the familiar click of a gun being cocked.

Lana was a trained soldier, and had been faster to the draw. Her assault rifle was held up in position, the butt pressed up against her shoulder and the red dot of her laser sight hovering over the salmon fabric of Excella's dress.

Simultaneously, the doors on the upper level slammed open and four, heavily-armed soldiers poured out onto the balcony. The green and blue of the Tricell logo flashed by, visible on their dark combat vests. They split into pairs, one on either side of the chamber, circling the room with their weapons aimed down toward Excella and Wesker. Half a breath later, they were in position, four red lasers twinkling through the dusty air.

Excella shot an alarmed glance at her companion. The blond had not moved an inch during the ambush and his hand remained steady on her shoulder. His posture was alert, shoulders pulled back and spine straight. However, his face was the same remote, impenetrable mask it had been before.

_Of course he's calm_, Excella thought. _The man can dodge bullets. If things go wrong, I'm the one who's going home in a body bag, not him. _

"Fancy that," Marcus said with mock astonishment. "Looks like we have guests. Let go of the gun, Excella dear, and show me your hands. Slowly."

She complied, the silver on her jeweled bracelets flashing as they slid up her forearm. She tried to keep her voice calm. "What's this all about?"

"Oh come now, Excella. Don't act so surprised. You didn't think I'd find your _unusually_ strong interest in this dump suspicious?"

Excella's eyes shot around the room, making mental notes of the exits. The two archways to her right and left were more than a few bounds away. It would be impossible for her to reach them without harm, though Wesker, with his inhuman speed, was a different story. The door behind them had been closed by Lana and she was willing to bet that it was locked as well.

"What are you planning to do?" She needed to buy them some time.

"Hand you over to Tricell, of course. A traitor and our most elusive enemy, captured and alive? It'll bring back a sizable chunk of my reputation."

"Enemy?"

"Let's not play this game, dear," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "To be honest, I was hesitant in the beginning, even after the ears I placed in your old laboratory came back with some very suspicious news. I thought I might have been over thinking things, seeing things that weren't there. So I kept my doubts, that is, until today."

He sauntered over to Lana and retrieved a small dark object out from one of her vest pockets. She stood rigid the entire time, her eyes never wavering from her target.

"I had to see you in person to confirm my suspicions," he continued. "Once I knew who I was looking for, it wasn't difficult to recognize you. Must be hard staying hidden with those eyes, hm Mr. Wesker?"

Wesker's hand clenched down, once, on Excella's shoulder before dropping down to his side. The sudden movement caused the soldiers to readjust their weapons, their fingers twitching on the triggers. To the others, it might have been a motion of surprise, but Excella knew better. He was sending her a message to get ready. He had a plan.

"Careful now," Marcus said, wagging a mocking finger. "I would advise you against trying anything too rash. You wouldn't want this to go off now, would you?"

He lifted up the item he had retrieved from Lana, holding it in his fingers for the pair to see. It was a black, cylindrical canister, roughly the size of his hand. _A tear gas grenade? _Excella thought, puzzled. What did Marcus think he could do with something like that?

"Keep making those faces of yours Excella and they'll stick. You, of all people, should know we've had these in development for quite some time now."

He flipped the canister over in his hand, displaying the bright Tricell logo plastered on the front.

Excella recognized it and gave a small gasp of surprise. "That's…"

"Anti-B.O.W gas." He grinned and waved his other hand over the object, like a magician presenting a trick. "It cost me an arm and leg, but I thought it might be handy for this situation."

Marcus' thin, blue eyes locked on to Wesker, the Cheshire smile never leaving his face. "Tricell isn't stupid. We've known about your mutation ever since you started popping up all over our radar. I don't know exactly what virus Umbrella pumped into you, but I'm willing to bet that the contents of this little container would wreak havoc on it. So one wrong move…"

He hooked his finger around the pin.

Excella felt her stomach drop down to the floor. Count on Marcus Kaufmann to corner them in every way possible.

A concoction of different anti-viral agents, Anti-B.O.W. gas was expensive to make, its synthesis difficult and extremely unreliable. Tricell had been pouring money into the project since day one, but the gas remained inefficient to develop and consequently, rare to find. Marcus had to have pulled a few strings to get a sample of it. For the most part, it was still in development in Tricell laboratories, but she'd read the reports. The results it had on the infected wasn't pretty.

The poison was like acid to them, melting right through their lungs, eyes, and even skin, until there was nothing left but a mass of sizzling, blistered flesh. With enough concentrated gas, even the Tyrants burned in the poisoned air. She could still remember their agonized roars, muffled by the glass of the observation room.

She found herself suddenly worried for the man beside her; the man she had once thought was indestructible.

"Have you told Tricell about us?" Wesker's voice was steady. He was never one to show his weaknesses.

"You think you can get out of this, is that it?" Marcus said with a laugh. "It won't matter anyhow, so I might as well tell you that I'm not one to share my glory with others."

It seemed to be the response Wesker was looking for. There was a flash of movement in his arm as he reached for something near his belt. Excella could see Lana's pointer finger coil around the trigger, the squeeze already in motion. She closed her eyes, expecting at any moment to have her innards splattered across the back wall…

"Stop!" Marcus' voice snapped like a whip across the empty hall. The soldiers bristled, breaths still held in tense anticipation. The trigger on Lana's rifle was almost half way down.

Her curiosity got the better of her and Excella turned to see what Wesker had done to postpone their fate. He was holding something out at arm's length, a small object squeezed in in between his long, ungloved fingers.

It was a hand grenade, the pin already pulled. Wesker's grip on the handle was the only thing keeping the explosive from detonating and sending shrapnel flying through everyone in a ten meter radius, _including_ Marcus Kauffman. If there was one thing the Tricell employee feared more than anything else, it was losing his life. He'd been outsmarted by Albert Wesker.

_Her_ Albert Wesker.

"What are you planning on doing with that?" Marcus' leering smile was gone and the tremble in his pursed lips betrayed his fear.

"Why, let it explode of course." Wesker words held a hint of amusement. They had the upper hand, and he knew it. "You said something earlier…something about the structure here being unstable?"

Marcus' face darkened, his finger quivering around the pin of the anti-B.O.W. grenade.

It was almost surreal, Excella thought as she glanced between the two men. Threatening each other with little metal objects held out in their hands. Like schoolboys, comparing their shiny new toys. She would have laughed at it all if she hadn't been stuck in the middle of the blast zone.

"Put down the gas canister. And the guns," Wesker said. "I'm giving you ten seconds before I let go, before this whole place comes crumbling down. And then we all die."

"Wait," Marcus said hurriedly. "We can negotiate—"

Excella never found out what Marcus had planned to negotiate with, because Wesker cut him off by doing the completely unexpected.

He went ahead and threw the grenade.

Even Excella didn't see it coming, stunned in blank confusion as she watched the blond release the explosive, watched the black pear-shaped object flying up into the air, higher and higher…

Time seemed to slow, disjointed thoughts zipping through her head. Hadn't Albert said he was going to give them ten seconds to surrender? Was that not the point of the grenade in the first place? Yet he'd barely finished his sentence when he'd thrown it—what on earth was going on?

Marcus and his soldiers must have been thinking similar thoughts, because they didn't react. Caught off guard, there were no bullets flying, no gas spraying, at least…not _yet_…

A second ticked by. Lana was the first to recover, her gun moved back up in position. She was yelling, trying to snap the others out of their bewilderment.

Something solid crashed into Excella, knocking the wind out of her. The room was suddenly a sickening blur of browns and blacks and pale amber lights.

Tick. There was another shout, a male voice. She could hear the beginnings of gunfire behind her, where the two of them had been a heartbeat ago.

Tock. And then her head smacked into the ground, cold stone pressed up against her cheek. The familiar burning heat of Wesker's body was on top of her, pressing her down, suffocating.

The grenade exploded. The sound was deafening, the vibrations rattling in her jaw and ringing in her ears. She could hear herself screaming in panic, her hands shooting instinctively over her head as the world swirled in a tangled mess of heat and sound. She expected it to be over in a second, but then the floor began to shake, deep resonating rumbles, as pieces of the ceiling came crashing down all around them. Wesker hadn't been bluffing. The ruins were coming apart, disturbed by the explosion. Pebbles ricocheted off the exposed skin of her hand. Fragments of rocks the size of softballs drilled into the ground around her. She heard Wesker snarl from above her and suddenly she was being forced further down under him, his arm over her head.

For a horrifying moment, Excella thought the earth beneath her would break apart, swallowing them whole. The stone seemed to jerk out from beneath her, shaking her back and forth. Something smashed down a few feet from her head and an explosion of fragmented debris peppered the back of her skull. She was too terror-stricken to scream anymore.

_I can't die here. Not now. Not crushed to death underground in the middle of God knows where._

And then it was over. The abrupt silence hung in the air like a thick carpet. There was dirt everywhere: in her eyes, in her nose, even in her mouth. She could feel her own panicked heartbeat hammering through her veins…and another pulsing above her. Slower than hers, steady, and calm. Albert.

There was a shift and then the crushing weight on top of her disappeared. Excella dragged herself to her knees, gasping. The air was so dense that it was a struggle to breath.

"Are you alright?" Wesker was examining their surroundings. His sunglasses had fallen off in the commotion and his strange, reptilian eyes glittered in the dim light.

"Fine," she said. She spat and found that her saliva was brown with dirt. "You could have killed us both back there. What were you thinking?"

"I would have warned you in advance if I could, but I never intended to wait for them to surrender. We needed that gap to get clear of the room before they started firing on us."

"So the whole thing was just a trick to catch them off-guard? Say one thing, do another? Clever." Excella let out a shaky laugh. The adrenaline hadn't quite worn off yet. "What now?"

"We search the place. If some of Marcus' men survived, we have to silence them before they get an opportunity to alert Tricell."

He grabbed Excella by the elbow and dragged her to her feet. She took the chance to examine her dress in the low light. She found that it was ruined, torn at the hems and smudged with soil. Sighing in dismay, she tried her best not to think of the price tag. They had bigger issues at hand.

Looking around, she found that they were in a tight hallway, broken fragments of stone littered all around. Wesker must have tackled her and hurled them both into one of the archways after throwing the grenade. The way back to the main room had collapsed on itself, a pile of jagged rocks forming a dead end. There was one lonely light hanging askew from the wall that had somehow survived the destruction. It flickered on and off, the intermittent light revealing a perpendicular passageway further down from where they had landed.

"You're right," Excella said with a frown. "If Tricell gets word of this, we're ruined." She made her way over to her overturned purse lying near the wall. It had come away from her arm when she'd been slammed down to the ground. Half of it had been pinned down by a fallen rock the size of a chair, but the contents had shot out of the bag from the force of the impact. Her compact revolver was there, lying among a pile of crushed make-up accessories.

She picked it up, feeling the weight of it in her palm. "Do you hear anything?"

Wesker tilted his head and listened for a few seconds, before narrowing his eyes. "Footsteps."

"Where?"

Wesker opened his mouth to answer, but abruptly broke off with a small cough.

"They're close," he said after clearing his throat.

"There's more than one?"

"I believe so." He started to elaborate, but was interrupted by another cough, this time more forceful.

Excella raised her eyebrows; she'd rarely seen her impeccable companion sneeze, much less have a coughing fit. "What's wrong?"

"The air—" he managed to choke out, but was unable to finish his sentence again and doubled over in hacking coughs, fierce and vicious ones that seemed to rattle in the lungs. The blond was gasping in between each of them, his breathing suddenly constricted.

"Albert?" She watched, surprised, as Wesker stumbled forward and pressed his shoulder against the stone wall for support. He was pale, his golden eyes wide with shock. He attempted to take a step forward, but crumpled to the ground instead, his shoulder heaving with the sudden effort to breathe. The change was so drastic that Excella found herself unable to react.

It was then that the smell hit her, a sharp and sour smell that burned in her nose and reminded her vaguely of ammonia and vinegar and sterile hospitals. It wafted in from down the hall and was getting drastically stronger by the second.

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched Wesker cough and sputter, the unnatural odor saturating the air…

"Marcus," she whispered. His gas canister must have been released—which meant the culprit had to be nearby.

Just as the connection clicked together in her mind, she heard the soft patter of footsteps behind her. Snapping her head around, she caught a flash of pink and white from a figure passing around the corner, no doubt making an escape after releasing the gas.

Excella started to take a step down the corridor to give chase, but found herself frozen in spot, hesitating. She knew that the consequences of letting Marcus get away alive would be deadly for her; after all, Tricell was not known for being merciful to traitors. The revolver was in her hands. She could catch up to the old man and put a bullet in between his eyes to keep him silent.

But it was the sight of the once untouchable Albert Wesker, now slumped and wheezing by the wall, that made her falter.

Flashes of images passed her mind, test subjects writhing on the ground, vomiting blood and gore in their spasms of death…she'd seen the corpses anti-B.O.W gas left in its wake. She didn't dare try to imagine Albert in that position. _It's not possible_, she said to herself. It would never happen. The man was undefeatable.

You can't kill the devil himself.

As if listening in on her thoughts, Wesker lifted his head then, his glittering, amber eyes drilling into her. They blazed with a sudden, furious intensity, as if she were peeking into the cracks of an ancient volcano.

There was hatred in them as well, fierce and biting. He hated the worried look on her face, hated her for being the only witness to his weakness. Excella found herself closing her eyes and turning away, shielding herself from his piercing glare.

"What are…you waiting…for?" he said. It took all his effort to spit out the words between pained, labored gasps.

She faltered, unable to answer, like a schoolgirl caught staring at a cripple. The footsteps were getting weaker now, a scuttling noise in the distance.

"After…him..." It was an order, hissed between gritted teeth and dripping with pure venom. Wesker's rasping breaths echoed in the stone hallway.

A pause. And then she nodded wordlessly, and without looking back, ran after Marcus's retreating footsteps.

* * *

Author's Note: This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Action scenes are my favorite. Next chapter will be exciting, I promise. I'm really looking forward to writing it.

With RE6 coming up, I'm curious to know what you guys think of it, particularly Jake and Sherry's scenario. I've been hearing a lot of mixed thoughts. Personally, the fangirl inside of me is excited that Wesker's legacy lives on, and having Sherry there seems to be a really nice touch (new OTP anyone?). Almost seems like this could be a sort of "redemption" for Wesker through his son, in kind of a weird contrived way. You know, 'cause he's dead and all. (Okay. Yes, I know I'm not making any sense. My brain is weird.) But at the same time, I do realize how much of an ass-pull this ridiculous premise is. But this is Resident Evil, what do you expect?

Review please, anything (even just a sentence) is much appreciated. :) It's just nice to know that there are people out there actually reading the crazy little stories playing out in my head.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Sorry again for the wait. I went on an editing spree and re-edited the entire story once again. In particular, I added a few minor additions to the first chapter in order to fit into this one. I know, I know, I'm such a terrible author. That's what you get for writing a story over the span of two years and not planning things out in advance.

Also, yes, I know, sudden POV changes are jarring and discouraged, especially since I've pretty much stuck with Excella for 90% of this story. But I just couldn't help myself this time. I won't lie, this first part of this chapter was _so_ incredibly fun to write. But if it really is that bad, let me know and I'll find some way to cut it out.

* * *

**The Devil's Queen**

Chapter 9

The air was on fire.

Every breath was like a lungful of searing acid. No oxygen. Just white, hot pain. It was eating through the lining of his throat and nose, leaving him writhing on the ground, mouth open, desperate for just one gulp of clean, fresh air. But each pitiful gasp only brought less air and more agony. The poison was everywhere.

He knew that he needed to get up. Soon it would burn through enough of him that he wouldn't need to worry about ever breathing again. But he couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't even get his feet under him without falling over and choking as his chest constricted in spasms of pain.

It brought back memories of a cold, tiled laboratory floor an ocean away, so cold compared to the warm blood that had pulsed weakly out of the holes in his chest. But it was different back then. He had still been a human, a mortal with a syringe hidden in his pocket and a plan tucked away in his head.

He had no plan now. He was no longer human, yet he was dying and had no strength left to do anything about it.

_You have lost_, they said to him. Even through his pain he could feel the familiar push that came with their presence, a slow, branching pressure that crept out from his chest and throbbed behind his eyes.

He willed himself to stand again, but his body only shuddered in response. The pain seemed dulled, almost distant. He knew better than to be comforted by its absence.

_You are dying and you will die unless you let us run free._ They were twisting now inside of him, excited at the prospect, like hungry maggots wriggling through a cadaver. He tried to block them out, but deep inside, he knew that they were right. It scared him more than he would have liked to admit.

In desperation, he tried to form a mental image of the photograph. Since his transformation, he had spent hours ingraining it in his mind, but now, when he needed it the most, the details seemed to slip through his fingers. The picture had been dark and unfocused. He remembered that much. It had been taken by an Umbrella soldier who had clearly cared more about escaping intact than documenting the grotesque, hulking beast. There had been a huge, monstrous eye that glared—almost accusingly, he had thought—out of a shoulder bulging with cancerous flesh.

And peeking behind that shoulder was a gaping mask topped with sandy, blond hair: the shadow of a face he had known so well a lifetime ago.

He had promised himself before. He'd made himself believe that death was the better option, repeated it to himself like a mantra every time they flared up inside, hungry for control. But now that he was knocking on death's door, anything seemed better than whatever awaited him on the other side. He briefly wondered if Will had thought the same in his final hours of humanity.

_You must_, they insisted. Persuading. _To die like this, defeated by that grinning fool and his toy smoke bomb…_

_Pitiful_, they whispered into his ear. _Weak. Shameful._

And of course, there was _her_, the pretty little thing, with her too heavy mascara and too bright lipstick. Ambitious, headstrong, gullible…and in the end, loyal. If he died here, she would go with him. The girl had already followed him too far into the mess he had made, and there was no turning back. He almost felt remorseful.

His consciousness was fading and the darkness began to envelop him like an inky sheet of black. He was teetering on the edge, dipping in an out of a mindless sleep, when a sudden wave of panic slammed into him like a blast of ice cold water. It clenched down on his heart like a steel vise and he floundered in the darkness, his thoughts an unintelligible, frantic mess. He couldn't die. He didn't want to die.

He was afraid to die.

Empty, blue eyes stared at him out of the grey mask of flesh, the skin thin and gaunt from too many late nights in the laboratory.

They were in a frenzy. They could sense that the end was near, and their strength seemed to double with newfound, desperate energy. Adrenaline raced through his system as they fought for control.

He let them have it. Even as he sank into darkness he could feel them grab, like burning fingers taking ahold of his muscles, their wildfire blazing life through his body.

They pulled him up, and suddenly the world swirled and he was himself but not himself at the same time. It was as if he had woken up from a dream and everything had changed. The pain was gone and the poison nothing more than an itch, and in their place was a new, yearning desire for blood, flesh and death. He wanted to kill and maim, to feel warm guts and brittle bones crushed between his fingers.

Like a drug, they poured into his mind, and suddenly he was alive, he was strong, and most importantly of all, he was invincible.

His last lucid thought was of young Will, freckles bold against pale skin, buck teeth peeking out as he smiled goofily at his friend…his only friend.

_Power consumes itself_, the figure seemed to say, mocking, even as a hundred giant eyes sprouted all over its body and the freckled face melted away into sagging lump of rotten, dead flesh.

And then the virus enveloped him completely.

* * *

Excella ran down the dark hallway. Sharp pebbles dug painfully into her bare feet, but she ignored them and followed the faint footsteps ahead of her with a determined pace. Her compact revolver was in her hand, squeezed so tightly that her knuckles were a bloodless white.

With nothing more than most basic of firearm training and a pitiful six shots in her revolver, Excella knew that there was no room for error. To make matters worse, she couldn't rule out the possibility that Marcus was armed, or worse, that one of his bodyguards had survived the explosion. She gritted her teeth at the thought, but didn't give herself the chance to slow down. If she wanted to have any chance of killing Marcus before he killed her, she would have to strike first and fast.

The hallway twisted and turned, the tight, stone corners scraping past her arms as she sprinted by. For a brief moment, her thoughts strayed back to Albert, but she caught herself and shoved the worries away. _Albert can take care of himself, but Marcus isn't going to drop dead on his own accord, _she said to herself_._ She took a deep breath and tried to think of nothing but how far ahead the footsteps seemed to be.

As she turned another corner, the path ahead dropped away and disappeared into a gaping, dark cavern. She was just about to slow to a stop and give herself a second to think, when a black form dropped out from the cavern ahead. With a surprised yelp, she collided into the object and ricocheted backwards onto the ground.

She blinked twice, temporarily stunned. And then she was on her feet again, adrenaline pounding through her veins as she scrambled for her gun and pointed it shakily at the dark mass slumped on the floor.

The first thing she saw was the Tricell logo, with its familiar geometric shapes and cool, aquatic colors. From there, her eyes wandered over the rough brown hair, the black combat vest, the assault rifle slung across it, and last of all, the oozing puddle of red seeping into the dry ground.

Lana's face lifted slowly up and turned toward her. Her plain face was almost unrecognizable under the blood and dirt; her sharp, brown eyes were now glazed and unfocused. One bloodied hand was still clenched tightly around her rifle, as if she had simply forgotten to let go. Excella stared at the weapon, fear curling in her stomach.

The soldier didn't seem to recognize Excella or her tiny gun. Without acknowledging her, Lana crawled laboriously to her knees, blood dripping out from beneath her body like fat ruby beads. Excella could see no gaping wound from her angle. The cold, detached scientist inside of herself concluded that it must have been the shrapnel from the grenade. Perhaps the bodyguard had even shielded her boss from the explosion; she seemed like the heroic type.

Excella could see the tip of her revolver wavering as it tracked the wounded woman's movements. She took a deep breath and kept her eyes glued on Lana's assault rifle, which swung hazardously on its strap as Lana pulled herself up.

"H-help..." Lana whispered, her voice trembling. One of her knees slipped out from beneath her, but she caught herself on an elbow, splattering more blood on the ground.

Excella just stared.

"H-help..m-me…"

She started crawling towards Excella, her crimson hand gripping the assault rifle like a crutch. Excella watched as the woman's fingers closed down on the gun, just inches away from the trigger. As her weight went down on it, the tip swung forward and the barrel of the weapon lined up with the center of Excella's tattered, salmon dress. It would be so easy for Lana's hand to slide further down, to brush past the sensitive trigger…

Excella's arm seemed to move on its own accord. Her pointer finger tightened and squeezed out three rapid shots, her target jerking backwards with each bullet. For a brief second the woman seemed to waver in the air, and then she crumpled facedown like a rag doll thrown aside.

Excella let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The body remained motionless, Lana's dark brown hair cascading down over her face.

Then a laugh echoed from the cavern ahead of her, the stone walls warping the sound into something eerily alien.

Excella sidestepped the body and pressed herself cautiously against the wall. It was almost pitch black inside the cavern and the yellow lamp in the corridor seemed jarringly bright in comparison. She could barely make out several monstrous pillars extending out of the ground like the bristles of a giant hairbrush.

"I never took you for a cold-hearted killer, my dear Excella," the voice said. _Excella, Excella, Excella…_ The echoes seemed to mock her as they danced around in the air.

_Only Marcus can pull off that sneer_, she decided as she tried to pinpoint the source of the noise. The reverberations were making it particularly difficult. Carefully, she turned the corner and slid further into the cavern, her back still glued to the wall.

"Poor Lana, so naïve to think that you would help her," Marcus said. "But her death was not in vain. Tell me, my dear, how many bullets do you have left in that toy of yours?"

Excella bit her lip to keep a curse from flying out. She'd forgotten about her limited ammo and, like a fool, wasted half of it on a dying soldier. To make matters worse, the gunshots had made sure that surprise was no longer on her side. The odds of killing Marcus now seemed painfully slim.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that the cavern was larger than she had originally imagined; its ceiling was a good two stories high, swallowed up by the tarry blackness looming above. The pillars she had noticed earlier were thick—thick enough for a man to easily hide behind. She scanned them for any hint of movement.

"And where is your 'security specialist,' hm? I must admit I underestimated you, Excella. How practical of you to leave him behind to die. It's really quite fascinating how much a little can of gas can do to those B.O.W's." The last word seemed to come inches away from where she stood, causing Excella to stumble backwards in surprise. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she cursed it for making it even harder to pinpoint the location of the speaker.

"Tell you what, dear, turn yourself over and perhaps I'll guarantee your safety. A beauty like you can keep me company as I grow older. I'm sure the job will suit you well."

_He's trying to goad you into talking and giving up your position,_ she told herself steadily. _Which means he probably doesn't know where you are. You still have a chance at this Excella, whoever finds the other first wins the game. _She inched cautiously along the wall in order to get a better look around the room.

She was almost past the first line of pillars when she heard a sound that sent waves of goose bumps crawling over her skin. The noise was familiar, but she couldn't seem to pin it down. It was deep, rumbling, and shook very slightly in her teeth. For a second, she thought it sounded like someone slowly ripping through a heavy sheet…but the sound was too organic to be something like that. It was closer to a low and long shout, raw with some type of feral emotion.

It almost sounded like a lion's roar.

The sound died away and a few seconds of silence hung in the air. And then Marcus silvery laugh rang out again, bouncing off the stone walls in all directions.

"Your friend has a very impressive death rattle."

_Impossible,_ she thought. The noise had been too alien, too contorted for human vocal chords.

"And now it's just you and me," Marcus said. "I—"

He was cut off abruptly by a new sound: a wet ripping and crunching. To her horror, she realized that the noise was coming from the brightly lit corridor she had been sliding away from. Little, uncontrollable shudders began to creep up and down her spine.

There was a dull thump and a splat, and something small and round rolled out in front of her. It followed the thin shaft of light extending out from the illuminated passageway, leaving a trail of dark splotches against the blindingly white ground. Teetering unsteadily, the object fell over and slowed to a stop.

Lana's glazed, dead eyes stared up at her. The jagged end of the woman's spine still jutted out from the decapitated head, strands of muscle and skin trailing out from behind it.

She heard a surprised gasp from one of the pillars directly ahead of her. No doubt Marcus had caught sight of the gruesome object as well.

A shadow fell abruptly over Lana's head and the silhouette of a person expanded into the shaft of light on the ground. Strangely enough, it took a few seconds for her to recognize Wesker. The corridor lamp cast a halo of light around him, but the surrounding darkness made the effect more eerie than angelic.

The light behind him hid most of his features in shadows, but she could still make out his stance: feet slightly apart, one arm hanging loosely by his side. The other dragged Lana's headless body by the collar of her combat vest, as effortlessly as one would heft an empty cardboard box. The dead woman's boots dragged out two miniature grooves in the dirt.

However, none of these things bothered Excella as much as his eyes. One glance made her break out in a cold sweat that trickled like ice between her shoulder blades. She'd seen those peculiar irises countless times before, but now they seemed completely unfamiliarto her. They shone with such intensity that they seemed to be their own light source, piercing out of the darkness in glittering scarlet and orange. He didn't blink, just stared out into the cavern with a cold, blazing ferocity.

She searched his eyes for any hint of familiarity, but found none. _This isn't Albert, _she thought. _It looks like him but it's not him. It can't be._

The thin black pupils expanded into dark orbs as they adjusted to the darkness. They scanned the room slowly and systematically while the rest of his body remained motionless.

As his gaze moved through the cavern, Excella felt an overwhelming, inexplicable sense of panic pierce into her, worse than anything she had ever experienced before. She couldn't let him see her. She needed to dig her way through the stone wall behind her and keep on digging until she found somewhere far, far away from those inhuman eyes.

It was similar to a sensation she'd had when she'd first met Albert almost half a year ago, but multiplied tenfold and infinitely more potent. Every single atom of her body seemed to be drenched in heart-pounding, paralyzing fear, a type of ancient and instinctive terror that shook her to the very core. She wondered if this was what a mouse felt like, hiding in the undergrowth as a hawk passed overhead.

In a few seconds Wesker's eyes would fall on her hiding place, and he would see her. She slumped back against the wall, eyes wide with terror.

There was a sudden noise near the center of the cavern, and Wesker's eyes snapped away from their trajectory and fixed on the source of the sound.

It was Marcus, stammering as he stepped shakily out from behind one of the pillars. He had a pistol held out in front of him, a Browning HP. When the two men locked eyes, Marcus was momentarily stunned into speechlessness and the handgun began to rattle uncontrollably in his grip.

Excella watched numbly in her corner, as if it were a theater act unfolding before her eyes.

Marcus swallowed a few times, breathing fast. "Y-you're supposed to be d-dead."

Wesker didn't answer. Instead he dropped Lana's body with a resounding thump, causing the Tricell board member to take a startled step backwards.

"D-don't move any closer," Marcus mumbled. His jaw was clenched tightly, the muscles on his neck bulging with the strain.

Wesker pulled his lips back, revealing two straight rows of white teeth. A snarl rumbled from within his chest, low, deep, and completely inhuman.

Marcus Kauffman responded by emptying his pistol. The shots were deafening in the cavern, the explosive echoes drilling into Excella's eardrums. His aim was professional and each shot pierced into his target—or at least the air where his target _would_ have been. In one smooth movement, the blond melted around the bullets and slid past them as easily as a fish would glide through the water.

Naturally, Marcus stared, slack jawed. But he recovered quickly enough and began to backpedal, fumbling with a combat knife that had somehow appeared in his hand.

With a blur and a gust of wind, Wesker shortened the distance between the two of them from ten feet to one. They now stood face to face, Marcus' sea blue eyes against Wesker's blazing crimson irises. Excella could have sworn that they had been roughly the same height before, but Albert now seemed to loom over the other man.

Marcus' knife flashed up, heading for the exposed skin above Wesker's collar. It had barely covered half the distance when Wesker _moved_, and suddenly one hand was gripping Marcus' wrist, the other pressed up against the top of the other man's shoulder. The knife clattered to the ground.

Excella heard tendons snap and bones pop, and then Wesker was holding Marcus' entire arm by the hand, while the rest of Marcus stumbled backwards. A thin stream of blood pulsed out of the stump of his shoulder, the skin and muscle dangling there like wet, slimy worms.

Marcus gaped silently, almost in disbelief, as the blond threw the detached arm aside and stalked steadily towards him.

To his credit, Marcus didn't scream; he just turned and ran.

He managed a few steps before Wesker's arm plunged through his back, the stained red hand bursting out from his chest with a horrifying squelch and crack. Marcus stared down at the protrusion for a second, his sapphire eyes wide, his cultured face marred with shock.

And then he uttered a soft "oh," and sagged down limply. With a deft twist, Wesker pulled his arm back out and let the body collapse to the ground. It twitched, small fountains of blood squirting like clockwork from the exposed arteries.

Yellow, fiery eyes stared down at the draining body.

Then his lips twisted apart and he snarled again. With both hands, he grabbed the ribs jutting out of the hole in Marcus' back. The bones snapped as he tore open the chest cavity, leaving a blooming crimson flower of bone and flesh. He began to rip through the organs systematically, throwing them aside like a toddler digging through a chest of toys. A heart flew down near Lana's head, a lung splattered into a nearby column. When he reached the intestines, he grabbed them by the handful and yanked them out in one tangled, dripping mess.

When that was done, he went for the limbs. His fingers tore through the skin, snapping the bones as easily as one would break twigs. Broken, detached legs joined the carpet of blood and torn guts collecting around him.

Excella watched from her corner, riveted on the macabre display and unable to move or react. For a brief moment, it was almost beautiful in its own terrible way. But then the smell hit her like a sledgehammer and her stomach churned in protest.

Soon all that was left of Marcus Kauffman was shreds of shiny muscles and tendons hanging from a broken lattice work of bones. His head remained intact though, hanging from what was left of the body by a thin piece of muscle. His blue eyes were clouded and his skin had already begun to gray. The carefully trimmed designer stubble soaked in the blood.

Wesker took a step back and stared at what was left of the body dispassionately, like an artist surveying his handiwork. Bits and pieces of Marcus still hung from him: a fragment of bone here, a sliver of flesh there. His blue shirt was now deep, dark red and his bare arms were stained completely up to the elbow.

_I need to go_, Excella thought to herself suddenly, scarcely daring to breathe. The paralyzing terror from before was returning. It pounded in her ears and clattered in her teeth, screaming at her to run before it was too late. _I need to get out of here before he sees me. I need to go. I need to move._

But her legs refused to respond, and she simply stood there, a rabbit frozen in fear.

And then it was too late. He turned around to stare at her, unblinking. His face was a mask of blood, so empty she felt like she was staring at a plaster bust.

_Does he recognize me? _she thought desperately.

As if answering her question, the blond flashed his teeth and let out a growl, savage and hungry. Without bothering to wipe off any of the blood dripping down from his arms and face, he started toward her, slow and steady.

"A-albert."

He didn't even flinch. Black leather dress shoes squelched with each step, leaving behind puddles of deep crimson.

Excella swallowed a whimper and clenched her numb, quivering fingers around her revolver. She had three shots left.

She had to make them count.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: I'm deviating a lot from the "official" RE5 geography in here. But then again, Kijuju geography doesn't make that much sense in the first place.

* * *

**The Devil's Queen**

Chapter 10

Excella tried not to think of Marcus as she shifted the revolver in her clammy grip. His aim had been flawless, yet none of his shots had even come close to connecting with Wesker. Was there any hope for her then, with her quivering hands and limited ammo?

_All I need to do is aim and fire, _she thought to herself as she watched the blond approach. His pace was steady and confident. She wondered if he was relishing in the idea of tearing her apart.

_Aim and fire._

The motion was clumsier than she'd anticipated, the revolver almost slipping from her fingers as she pulled it up in front of her. It seemed to take ages for her to line up the sights as her eyes refocused past the gun and onto...empty air.

Excella barely had time to let out a panicked gasp when her entire vision was suddenly filled with dark red and purple. By the time she realized she was staring into Wesker's blood-stained shirt, the revolver was already flying across the room, slapped aside by a sweep of his arm.

She screamed and dove left, trying to slide past him and out into the open. One second she was moving through the air, the next she had her back crushed up against the stone wall, her bare feet dangling a meter off the ground. There was pressure all around her neck like a taunt metal noose.

Excella clawed in panic at the hand encircling her throat, digging her nails uselessly into the exposed skin. Black spots swam through her vision. She tried to find purchase with her feet but her heels only kicked helplessly against the wall behind her.

The grip continued to tighten. It was a slow, easy motion, unhurried and unyielding. _He's going to snap my neck_, she thought, dizzy with panic.

Past the bloodstained arm pinning her to the wall, Wesker's face loomed in her darkening vision. His lips were still pulled back in that savage grin and his alien eyes glittered like tendrils of fire. There was joy in his expression as well, a terrible, twisted amusement at her struggles.

For less than a millisecond, however, she thought she spotted a brief flash of hesitation.

Frantic hope raced through her mind. With renewed energy, she pried at his fingers, scratching at them blindly in an attempt to get them to release. It was like trying to bend cold steel. Her elbows scraped up against the wall, her hair hung in strands over her white, terrified face—and his grip seemed to loosen, if only for a heartbeat.

A gasp."A-Albert…_please._"

It was there again, unease in his blazing, yellow eyes. His fingers twitched, but he did not let go.

"P-please…"

The word was a barely audible squeak, but he must have heard her. There was a snarl, and suddenly she was flung aside, her bare knees bruising against the ground.

Air had never tasted so sweet. She lay sprawled out, coughing and sputtering, too distracted with breathing to even notice the throbbing pain in her neck and the head. For a while, she could think of nothing other than filling her lungs with oxygen. And then after several strained gasps, her mind cleared and, with a cold stab of fear, she realized that her assailant was still behind her. She jerked around so fast that the edge of her dress tore against the rocky ground.

He was kneeling by one of the pillars with his head cradled in his hands. She could see his shoulders shuddering with panting breaths and he made a strained sound that was half a growl and half a groan.

"A-Albert." Her voice was so hoarse she barely even recognized it.

He looked up at the name. Wild eyes stared back at her, flashing with some sort of crazed, uncontainable emotion she couldn't identify. There was a crease in his thin, golden eyebrows that made him seem confused and angry at the same time.

Their eyes locked. And then, like a bristling dog, his features twisted again and his hands clenched back into tense fists. Seeing the muscles strained against his neck, Excella jerked back in terror.

But to her surprise, he only shuddered and fell still.

"Albert," she repeated. "Are you…?" She hesitated, considering a few things._ Calm? Sane? Going to try to kill me again?_

With a strangled growl, he bent his head down again, pressing the base of his palms against his eyes as if he was trying to rub something out from behind them. The light from the corridor shone off the wet blood still dripping from his hands. She could see that they were shaking.

Excella clambered to her feet, keeping her eyes peeled from any sudden movements from the blond. She was worried for him but she knew better than to get any closer.

"Tranquilizers." She was suddenly reminded of the incident back at the research center, the little 'hiccup' almost a month ago. "You need tranquilizers. Like back then. There's bound to be some…"

She looked around helplessly.

Without removing his hands from his face, Wesker shook his head stiffly. His breathing was so ragged she could hear every hoarse gasp even from fifteen feet away.

And then he spoke, his voice strained and contorted. "Proto…type…"

"Prototype?"

"Back…back in the luggage. I developed a prototype a-antidote…for…" He exhaled abruptly, like a heavy sigh. His hands steadied and he moved them carefully away from his face. "…for _this._"

"Our bags are in Marcus' guest rooms." The darkness seemed almost suffocating all of a sudden. "We'll have to find a way back to the surface."

Now that his face was unobstructed, Excella could see that his skin was a ghastly, pale white. Smudged crimson blotched the upper half, where his blood-drenched palms had previously been.

"We have to…go," he said slowly, as if struggling to find the words. "Go...and get it."

"Can you stand on your own?" Excella took a hesitant step forward, but stopped when she saw him twitch violently. His eyes narrowed abruptly into thin yellow slits.

"Don't," he hissed. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering himself. And then he relaxed again, the tense muscles on his face loosening. "Don't...come close."

Excella nodded and remained fixed at her spot, happy to oblige.

There was a flash in the corner of her eye. A glance told her it was the flickering corridor lamp glinting off the buckle on Lana's decapitated corpse. The body was still slumped where Wesker had left it.

_Perhaps she had a radio on her_, she thought with a sudden flash of hope. It dissipated quickly, however, when she realized how unwise it would be to call for help. She'd forgotten that Marcus Kauffman was still scattered across the cavern floor and Albert was practically drenched in the dead man's blood.

At the very least, she could probably still salvage a flashlight. Excella walked over to the corpse, careful to keep her distance from the blond. She could feel his eyes on her, and she tried to ignore the hunger that shot through them.

"Power consumes…," he mumbled suddenly, his voice distant and detached.

Excella furrowed her eyebrows, but continued over to the body. _He's delirious. This does not bode well. _And then there was another thought, a tiny intrusive voice in her head. _I should leave him here. Any second now and he'll snap again. _

In two hurried steps she reached the body, shuddering when her bare feet squelched into the dirt. It reminded her of wet sand on a beach—except here, it wasn't water creating the effect.

Shuffling through the pockets of the combat vest, Excella fished out Lana's military-issue flashlight and a small, tactical radio. _I suppose it wouldn't hurt to keep this on me_, she thought after a pause. She hung it around her neck, wincing when the nylon strap pressed against the developing bruises on her skin. Folded in the inner pocket of Lana's vest was a map, which she threw aside after a quick scan. It was only for the underground facility, which was still blocked off from them by the collapsed room.

She was standing up when she spotted her revolver lying a few feet away from the body. She picked that up as well, telling herself that it was for any uncooperative natives still wandering around the ruins.

Excella heard a scraping noise behind her and turned around to find Wrk pulling himself unsteadily to his feet. His breathing had evened out, but his wild, unsettling eyes were still very much apparent.

There was only one other exit from the cavern, an unlit tunnel opposite from the corridor they had come in from. She shone the flashlight toward it.

"Let's go that way."

He nodded slowly in reply.

She kept her distance from Wesker as they moved into the tunnel, following him like a detective tailing a target. From behind, she could see that he was hunched over, a dark, stumbling mass against the glaring white of her flashlight. She felt a pang in her heart every time he leaned against the wall for support, but fear kept her from getting any closer to help him.

"I won't…let them," he mumbled, as they worked their way through the darkness. The words were soft and barely intelligible.

Excella tried to concentrate on the path ahead of them, ignoring the way Wesker's disjointed rambles echoed strangely up and down the tunnel.

"Consume me…like Will."

Curiosity got the better of her and she found herself speaking. "Who?"

It took a few minutes before he answered, as if he was trying to find his voice again.

"…a friend."

Excella raised her eyebrows. A friend? The word seemed too genuine to come out of someone like Wesker. He'd never mentioned this man before, but then again, everything she knew of his past came from files she'd dug up in Tricell's database. She wondered if it was safe to pry.

"Where is he now?"

He didn't answer. The only sounds in the quiet hallway were the slow shuffles of Wesker's feet and the metallic rattle of the radio hanging from her neck.

There was light coming in from the end of the hall, a very pale white that barely illuminated the darkness. It puzzled Excella, since the path they had taken had been relatively flat. There was no way they had reached ground level yet. The exit where the light was coming from wasn't much more than an angled slit, and Wesker has to turn sideways to slide through.

She switched off her flashlight and followed Wesker out into the light.

The underground pocket they had entered was massive. It was almost completely circular, with jagged slabs of rock jutting out of the walls. High above her, she could see tiny holes in the ceiling which allowed several dusty beams to stream weakly down into the expanse.

What caught her eye, however, was the structure in the center. There was a large circular stone mound there, raised off the ground like the layers of a cake. Following its circumference was a dirt path and four small stairs in regular intervals that led up to the center. She could hear the soft trickle of water somewhere beneath the structure.

And then there were the flowers.

Hundreds of them clumped together in the center of the circular pedestal, their orange and red petals glowing in the pale beams of light. Many flourished beyond the bounds of the circular garden as well, bright bursts of color against the mossy, crumbling stone.

_How curious_, she thought to herself. _An underground garden._

She was suddenly aware of Wesker, standing several feet ahead of her. He stood motionless at the edge of the stone pedestal, staring out at the garden as if he had never seen a flower before in his life. His eyes were so wide that the whites seemed to for form a ring around his yellow irises. There was energy in them again, something far different from the wild hunger she'd witnessed before.

And then he took a step forward, and then another step, until he was up the small staircase and standing on top of the raised mound. He looked down at the flowers, bright red petals brushing against his blood stained jeans. Although he was facing away from Excella, she could see that he was completely still, not unlike the flowers in the stagnant underground air. She couldn't even hear his formerly ragged breaths anymore.

"What is it?" Her voice sounded obnoxiously loud in the deathly silence.

There was a short delay, before he whispered: "Stairway…"

Excella glanced at the stone steps leading up to the mound. There was nothing on them. Was it just more of his delirious ranting again?

He crouched down then, slowly and cautiously. Dried blood flaked off his clothes and disappeared among the plants like crimson snow. Those stained red hands—the same ones which had almost squeezed the life out of her—reached out and touched the petals, so gently and reverently she could scarcely believe her eyes.

She wondered how ridiculous it would be to admit that she was jealous of a _flower_.

Excella walked around the circular path to get a closer look at the objects that had brought about such an abrupt change to her companion. They reminded Excella of daisies, with long, flexible stems and petals arranged in the shape of shallow dishes.

She sniffed the air experimentally. Something was missing. There were no weeds poking through the ground, no soft breeze in the air, no sweet smell of plant life and pollen. Only a garden of scentless flowers and the soft trickle of water somewhere beneath the stone. It reminded her of a museum exhibit, an ecosystem frozen in time. She had to brush a finger along a nearby flower to convince herself that they weren't made of plastic.

"Stairway?" she repeated softly, as she fingered a petal.

A flash of memory passed her mind: she'd been preparing for an interview, trying to snag a lab position in Tricell a few years back. The book had been large volume, almost too heavy for her to lift, filled with pages upon pages of miniscule black font. Excella hadn't been looking forward to reading it, but she had known how important it was for her to learn the information it contained. After all, it _was_ the history of the world's greatest pharmaceutical company.

_Of course._ _A lost Umbrella facility, a mysterious flower garden._

"Stairway of the sun," she said aloud. The words echoed through the dusty air. "The source of the original Progenitor virus."

She ran her hand around the circumference of the flower, letting the soft petals slide by her fingers.

"But if I remember correctly, Umbrella was not able to cultivate the plant properly outside of its origin." It was more to herself than to her companion, still crouched silently among the flowers. "So this…this must be the source. It all makes sense now. This is what makes this facility so special to you. It was the beginning of everything. The beginning of Umbrella."

Wesker turned to stare at her, his eyes pale and unblinking.

_He doesn't understand me at all_, she thought. _He's still lost in there, somewhere among that ticking time bomb of a virus._

"But why do you need the origin of the progenitor?" she continued, ignoring Wesker's blank stare. "Unless...you want to create something different…something new. You want to start from the beginning. A new virus."

A buzzing excitement was working its way up her spine as she spoke. She felt like a child again, catching a glimpse of her Christmas present behind a torn corner of wrapping paper. _A new virus. _Could her hypothesis be true? Was it even possible? And what would it lead to in the end? Wesker wasn't any normal scientist; he wasn't after the research publications, the patents, the fame or even the money. There was something big planned behind those strange yellow eyes, and to think that _she_, Excella Gionne would be the one beside the man who would change the world…

She was thrown back into reality when Wesker flinched, his fingers instinctively grabbing down on the flower he had been examining. Her moment of excitement melted away the instant she saw the broken petals floating down from his fist. _None of my fantasies will matter if we don't find a way out of here…before Wesker snaps and decides my head looks better off my shoulders than on it._

He was struggling with it again, teeth gnashing in a sudden bout of inexplicable anger. She scanned the room for an exit.

There was a short ramp of dirt in the back that led into a tall opening in the wall. The sides of the exit were decorated with two half broken columns, so eroded that they were now just round, crumbling stumps. Faded, engraved snakes circled the broken pillars in hypnotizing spirals.

"Let's go." She could hear the tremble in her own voice. "Back there. It will probably lead us out."

To her relief, Wesker complied and started stiffly toward the path. However, his fist remained clenched and the edge of a pulverized petal could be seen peeking out between his long fingers.

She tailed behind him once again, her flashlight lighting the way through another dark tunnel. She kept the beam forward and onto Wesker's feet, in fear that he'd fall down the unseen edge of an underground cliff. From the corner of her eye, she could see the faded gold glint of half buried ruins, like shadowy tombstones looming out of the ground.

They seemed to walk for hours. Gradually, she began to realize that they were no longer in a tight enclosed space; their footsteps had suddenly become very quiet. She could just barely see the dark forms of stone railings on either side of the path. Beyond them was an inky black, but she didn't dare move the flashlight away from the path in front of her. It would be a sorry way to die, strolling straight into a gaping abyss.

She was impressed with how Albert was holding up. He seemed to be moving faster than before, as if the mere act of walking was giving him momentum. Without a word he traveled headlong into the darkness, seemingly oblivious to any sort of danger the unknown path would bring. Briefly, she wondered how well his eyesight fared in the pitch black. Was her flashlight even necessary for those inhuman eyes?

Just when Excella was about to give up hope that they would ever see daylight again, the pair came across a narrow staircase. Wedged stone bricks led up in a steep slanted slope, disappearing into the darkness above. There was an archway that stretched over the first few steps. Most of its carvings were faded beyond recognition, but Excella thought she spotted an etched eye staring out at her from the highest point of the arch. She shuddered, trying to shake of the feeling that she was being watched.

Wesker spoke then, his voice hoarse and quiet. "This is the exit."

"How do you know?"

"I can feel the air."

She shone her light up the steps. They seemed to stretch forever.

"Can you make it?"

Wesker ignored her and started up the stairs.

Excella followed him, her legs trembling from both exertion and fear. There was only emptiness on either side of her and the width of the staircase was so narrow that one stray step would send her tumbling away into the darkness. The steepness made it worse, and soon she found herself almost bent over, clambering up on all four limbs.

She was glad that Wesker had to stop occasionally, since it gave her the chance to catch her breath. During these pauses, the blond would bend his head down over his chest, as if he had found something interesting on the steps underneath him. If Excella hadn't known better, she might have thought that he was praying. He would remain in the position for a few silent minutes, before exhaling softly and continuing the climb.

By the time the steps ended, Excella's bare feet were so bruised that she was wincing with every step. She limped up over the last stone wedge and found herself staring into a small, round orb of pastel red light. It took her a second to realize that it was an opening at the end of a narrow corridor.

Wesker was already moving toward it. She followed him, the orb expanding into a glaring sky of red and yellows.

Her eyes adjusted quickly and she saw that they had exited out onto the top of a small, rocky hill, the warm colors of the sunset flooding the open landscape. The breeze was surprisingly cool, and she took several deep breaths of fresh air. The dreary maroon of the African horizon was a welcome sight after hours of underground darkness.

Excella looked over her shoulder to find Wesker hiding in the shadows of the cave entrance, one hand shading his sensitive eyes from the piercing sunlight. Outside of the underground darkness, he looked even worse than ever.

Time was running out.

She needed to get her bearings. Judging from the direction of the sunset and the tiny concrete square in the distance, they were more than ten kilometers east from the original entrance to the facility. Out of curiosity, she took a few steps around the cave to take a look at the landscape behind them. There was a shimmering light in the distance: a tiny bay jutting inland. _That could prove useful for future_, she thought, and made a mental note of its location.

She fumbled for the radio around her neck. Earlier, when she had picked up Lana's radio, she had noticed that there was a little plastic card stuck taped on the back, with several frequencies written in large red marker. She was fairly certain that they would lead to help, or at least someone with the resources to pick them up. All she had to do was get a response.

She yanked the retractable antenna out of the device but paused before turning the dial. This was Lana's radio, after all, which meant the frequencies would most likely lead back to _Marcus'_ men. Even if they were far enough away from the scene of the murder, there was no telling what the soldiers would do if their boss weren't to emerge from the underground facility. And if that wasn't suspicious enough, Wesker was still caked head to toe with a layer of dried blood—Marcus' blood.

She did have one advantage. Most, if not all, of Marcus' men were mercenaries he'd hired to clear out the old research center. Perhaps she could persuade them to turn a blind eye, especially given that she and Wesker were the only ones who knew the location of the bodies. As long as Marcus' death remained vague, she doubted the mercenaries would act too rashly.

She turned the dial until the small LCD screen reached the first frequency on the card.

"This is Excella Gionne, from Tricell. I need immediate assistance. Can anyone hear me?"

She had barely released the button when the radio crackled to life with a response. It was a male voice, distorted with static.

"Ms. Gionne, I'm glad to hear from you. We lost contact with your group a few hours after you went underground. What happened? Where are you now?"

"There was an accident…one of the caverns caved in on us."

"Is Mr. Kauffman with you right now?"

"I'm afraid not. Marcus was caught under the collapse and only my companion and I made it out. We found a way up to the surface through the ruins behind the facility."

A second of static.

"That's unfortunate news." Even through the distortion Excella could tell that the man was far from mourning. "I will send my men to pick you up; can you give me your location?"

"Yes, but…there's something else that you must understand."

"I'm listening, Ms. Gionne."

"This situation, although tragic, is also quite…delicate. A Tricell board member may be dead." She paused, still holding down the call button as she phrased her next line carefully. "I am willing to offer a…a gracious compensation for anyone who can make this process as easy as possible."

There was no response for several agonizing minutes. Excella even double-checked her radio to see if it had lost the signal. And then finally:

"I understand ma'am. For the sake of privacy, I'll retrieve the two of you on my own. You can decide how you want to contact Tricell after you get back to the facility."

She signed in relief. "Thank you. We're on a small hill, east of the facility. I can see the edge of the bay from here…and what looks like a swamp and some heavy foliage a little ways west. "

"I believe I know where that is. Look out for green jeep. I'll radio you when I get close."

"Your understanding is greatly appreciated."

Once the conversation was over, she turned back toward the cave. Albert was sitting cross legged a few feet in, hunched over in the darkness. The jagged cave entrance and warm light cast a strange red and black shadow across his face, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Golden eyes stared emptily at the wall opposite from where he sat.

She inched cautiously over.

"Someone is coming to pick us up. We'll have access to the bags soon enough."

No response. Excella rubbed her neck, wincing when she put pressure on the tender skin.

It was then that she caught sight of the wall Wesker was staring at. Like most of the other structures she'd seen in the ruins, it was crisscrossed with carvings.

"Snakes again?" she said aloud. Walking over, she ran her hand across the etchings, feeling the smooth raised curves under her fingers. There were serpents carved across ever corner of the wall. They twisted and turned among each other, forming dizzying waves and hypnotic spirals. Some were larger than the width of her hand, others thinner than her pinky.

Sharp fangs shone in the evening light, zigzag grooves formed rippling, intricate scales. Their eyes had once been painted a vibrant red, but time had turned them into faded rusty smudges.

"Impressive craftsmanship."

At the sound of her voice, Wesker's gaze moved away from the carvings and fixed unblinkingly at her. He stared, expressionless, for a second, before a slow smile crept across his lips. It was barely noticeable, a shadow of a grin that tugged gently at the corners of his mouth.

Excella shuddered and turned away.

"Never did like snakes," she said, reflexively brushing the tips of her fingers over the bruised skin on her neck.

And then she sat down in the shade of the cave and waited for the jeep to arrive.

* * *

Author's Note: Someone made an interesting point on Tumblr. Wesker claims to have wanted to save the world, and in a way, he _has_. We now know that his son, Jake, has inherited Wesker's blood which is apparently some sort of magical cure to all the viruses (hence Sherry's determination to get him out alive.) Probably too deep for Capcom to have planned out intentionally though.


End file.
